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be-my-ally · 2 years ago

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Let Yourself Go

Overstimulated Reader! Request.

my darling, what a dream request - thank you anon! for both your very kind words + excellent request!!! this has consumed my brain for the past week; I originally intended it to be short like 2.5-3k, and then it turned into 4k and then I realised that in all of those words elvis had only been treated once so it turned into 6k. so this is 6.7k of pure, absolute, filthy smut just for you that i really hope lives up your expectations!

summary: slightly innocent!reader is convinced girls can't really orgasm - elvis sets out to teach her how wrong she is.

pairing: afab!reader/elvis (big daddy e)

warnings: 18+, 18+, 18+, tiny bit of daddy kink, implied age difference, oral (p+v receiving), p in v sex, fingering, mirror sex, overstimulation, very brief spanking. I think that's it? Reader does attempt to stop the proceedings a couple of times and elvis doesn't stop but it is all consensual.

wc: 6.7k

suggested listening: the end of such a night + of course, let yourself go.

You’ve not been together very long and you were still learning about each other in many ways. It confused you a little that he, who you knew had girls throwing themselves at him, would take the time to bother to get to know you better. He’d picked you out of the crowd and put you on his lap in his dressing room before he’d even learnt your name. When you’d told him, earnestly, that you didn’t expect to be married or anything but you were a good girl, who wouldn’t sleep around, you’d expected him to tell you that he wasn’t going to see you again. But no, he’d put in the effort and here you were, a few weeks later, at Graceland of all places. You’d been brought back with him after his engagement at the International ended for this year, allowing him a short break before he resumed touring.

He’d taken you out on his bike earlier, showing you the sights of Memphis and you’d loved the rush, so unlike anything you’d experienced before. Despite the fact that you dreaded the call from your parents at the photos that would inevitably be published of the two of you - you hadn’t really been dressed to go out (the outing unexpected), nor had you been able to help snuggling into his back, your hand resting on his solid thigh at the lights. When you’d gotten back to the estate you’d expected a party - a celebration of his homecoming, and you’d been bracing to have to deal with losing him for the evening, but you’d been pleasantly shocked when he’d kicked everyone out after dinner, announcing that he wanted a night just the two of you.

You wanted to tell him that his expectations were a bit forward, to not get his hopes and that you still weren’t sure you were quite ready to have actual sex with him but in all honesty, you were ready and only your (perhaps misguided) morals had prevented you thus far. You had been slightly surprised at how unbothered he had seemed at the concept of sex - he’d laughed you off when you’d told him you didn’t want to sleep with him on the first night; telling you that was all very well but would you sleep with him because he couldn’t “bear the long nights all on my lonesome”. He hadn’t pressured you at all, less than your last boyfriend for sure, and seemed to genuinely enjoy your makeout sessions as much as you do. To tell the truth, you weren’t really sure why anyone was that bothered by sex - it felt fine sure, but it didn’t blow your world apart, was mostly very awkward, and you couldn’t understand what the fuss was in general.

You’d followed him into the bedroom, into his room, and while part of you wanted to inspect every little detail of this hidden, protected space, the other part of you could feel his impatience from the bed and when he smiles at you - all cheeks and teeth, asking;

“Wanna have some fun tonight darlin’? Cleared the place out for ya, didn’t want you to go all shy on me…some girls get nervy at the number of people in the place. Get real quiet and the like, even though I tell ‘em I got the sound locked down.” You forget any desire to rifle through his drawers and instead stare at him, slightly confused - just hoping he’s not going to be disappointed;

“Uh, oh, well, I can’t say I’m that loud anyways, always, I always thought that was just a thing girls, uh, exaggerated?” You look down, embarrassed that you may be having to burst his bubble - you don’t want to be the first to tell him that from what you know there’s nothing to be shouting about. But he doesn’t react in the way you expect - blinking at you from under his glasses and patting the bed next to him.

“C’mere doll, tell daddy what you mean.” You sit where he tells you to, tiny shorts hiking even further, and you curl your legs up underneath yourself.

“I don’t, sorry, I don’t understand what you’re asking? I’m just, just, saying that I never understood what those girls on the … on the … the stuff you like to watch, what they’re shouting about is all. Never seemed like anything worth carrying on like that is all.” He’s a little shocked but not altogether surprised - you’re young and a little sheltered, perhaps more than he thought at your reluctance to even said the word ‘pornography’ and he knows your only other relationships have been serious with boys from home, less about fun and more about futures, and he knows that they don’t always put the effort in they should. Still, he needs clarification - his eyes burning with curiosity;

“You mean you ain’t ever .. got your rocks off? Never creamed those lil’ shorts of yours?” His thick hand finds its way onto your thigh and he flicks the hem of your shorts, practically between your legs. You giggle, pushing his hand off.

“Elvis. Don’t be silly, unless you’ve been with some funny sorta people - girls can’t do that! That’s… I might not know much but I do know that.” He looks back at you, utterly stunned, before smiling like all his Christmases have come at once, a full cheshire cat grin.

“You - you ain’t never?” He’s shocked, but desperate to know your answer, taking his glasses off, leaning closer and waiting with practically bated breath in excitement, clenching his hands on his thighs.

“I just told you E, that’s not something girls can actually do. Don’t you think I’d know! If you’re just gonna tease me I swear I’m gonna walk right out of here!” He laughs again at your indignation, shaking his head,

“Naw little one, don’t do that, don’t do that - I just uh, I think I might be able to teach you a few things tonight is all. Just, ah, need to re-evaluate some things’all.” He frowns, “You know the other day, baby, when I stroked your little pussy and you pushed me off - told me you were all done?”

You remember the incident he was talking about, He’d had his fingers up you, rubbing you exactly how you needed and you’d crunched with an involuntary shudder, couldn’t quite catch your breath properly and had told him to stop. You’d pushed him away in a panic that you didn’t know what was coming, but that that was certainly enough. He’d been a little worried then, worried that he’d pushed you into something you hadn’t wanted to do. But, he’d relaxed when you’d relaxed on the bed - he wasn’t happy with leaving you like that, on the edge, but he’d figured you were just shy, nervous that his entourage was a mere wall away. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him that you genuinely believed that was you finished.

“Yeah, but what about it? We were done - I was done, it was starting to make me feel weird. I actually think we went too far.” He lets out a pure incredulous laugh, shaking his head.

“Oh baby, baby. I’m gonna, I’ll teach you baby, it’ll be ok.” You nod, but you’re honestly a bit confused about what he’s even planning on teaching you, but you don’t want to tell him he’s wrong again. You suppose he does have quite the reputation, so maybe he does have some things to show you, you doubt it somewhat but keep that to yourself.

“Right, yittle, need these all off of ya,” He tugs at your shirt, starting to unbutton it. “and these, these slutty little shorts need to come off, lemme see what I’m working with.” He’s practically crooning at you, slipping your shirt off gently, divesting you off your shorts - undressing you as if you were a babe. He strips you of your bra, leaving you in little white panties, before pushing you back onto the bed to lie flat. He doesn’t give you time to worry about your nudity, cupping your cheek with one thick hand, leaning over you to kiss you.

His tongue slips in, it’s like he’s mapping your mouth and you don’t bother to fight for dominance, letting him in, submissively brushing your tongue against his. He pulls away slightly, grabbing a breath and you can’t help it, his pouty perfect lips too tempting, you surge forward to softly suck on his bottom lip, nibbling gently. He responds in kind, pulling your head back, baring your neck - he tugs your lip between his teeth pulling as he pulls away. You moan at the little sting, and he presses a soothing peck against it. Before trailing down and pressing little open-mouthed kisses at your cheek, mouthing at your neck - tiny little suctioning touches until his hand, which he’s not resting on, is trailing further down. His fingers spread across a breast, fingertips playing with your nipple. You can feel the heat coiling in your tummy - your throbbing heartbeat between your legs. He’s pressing little kisses down your soft stomach, and he grunts as he repositions himself - up on his knees slightly. It worries you briefly, he’s been using a cane as more than just an accessory more frequently lately - his youthful actions having been hard on his knees and legs, before your mind is wiped by his actions again.

His hand trails lower, even as he continues to press soft kisses on your stomach, and he swipes down in a languid stroke over your panties, feeling your pooling wetness through the forming damp spot. He pushes it into you, rubbing you over them - the fabric catching slightly, along with your breath. He moves his head back up, sucking you by your collarbone and on your neck, hard enough to leave a bruise. The noises coming out of your mouth are unlike how you’ve ever heard yourself before, and as he hooks his fingers into your panties, pulling them down and off - the dampness making them pretty much see through - you would normally cringe in embarrassment but as you watch him lift them to his mouth and suck on them you can’t do anything but stare in an absolute state of shock and arousal. He’s still fully dressed although his shirt is so lowly unbuttoned, his chest with its covering of hair, god even his nipples practically out, that it barely counts. You can feel his own arousal growing against your side, still confined in his tight, slightly flared, trousers the heat of it, and can’t help but wiggle against him. He folds your panties, scrunching them up, before shifting to push them into his trouser pocket. You gape at him,

“Good lord, you can’t - they’re so dirty Elvis - you can’t keep them. They need to be washed!” He smirks at you, smirk turning to a grin as he leans over you to whisper in your ear, moving his hand away from you as he does.

“Baby, when they taste that good, I’ll do what I damn well like.” He licks your cheek, and it's something that you would have found disgusting from anyone else, but somehow him doing it makes your heartbeat pulse in your core. He lets his hand come back down, lightly slapping against your pussy, you jolt forward, mouth falling open, and eyes rolling slightly at the sudden intense pleasure from it. He chuckles into your ear, tickling your neck, “Oh - you like that mama? Like that baby?” He does it again, and you’re horrified at the wet slapping noise - but also at the sudden surge of wetness, you can feel.

“Oh god, Elvis, you gotta - gotta do that again. Please.” He obliges, patting you once, twice, three times before letting his hand fly slightly harder, you can feel your heat rising - and you shiver slightly. You’ve reached the peak of where you’d been before. Your heartbeat fast, and a constant thrumming at your centre. He laughs, teasing you in a low tone,

“God, who’d have thought you’d be such a dirty fucking girl, letting me - begging me to spank that yittle cunt of yours.” He puts an inflection onto yittle, as if even when talking about your ‘cunt’ he’s unable to stop his penchant for baby talk.

He uses his fingers to spread you apart, middle finger sliding in your slick. The metal of his ring is cold against your burning skin, sending goosebumps down your flesh. You think he can’t make you feel any better when he slips two of his fingers inside you. His huge square ring catching on your entrance for a moment and you buck your hips as he slides it in. He pumps them, in and out, as you squirm on the bed. Your eyes fall closed for a moment and he whispers to you,

“You like that little? My fingers in you? Gonna show you how girls do it, teach ya how it goes.” You respond with a whine - his words causing a blush to travel from your chest. You’re simultaneously embarrassed at needing to be taught something about your own adult self and aggressively turned on by his narration.

You’re breathless and while he’s looking at you with a soft smile on his face - pure concentration in his burning eyes, you can’t help but wonder what he’s getting from all of this attention on you. But to be the centre of his focus, him looking at you like you’re the whole world - the only thing in the world, is another level of high. Behind him you can yourself reflected in the mirror above - you look fucking debauched, unlike yourself and seeing him from above, in all his iconic glory, reminding you this is Elvis fixated on you brings you even closer to the cliff edge.

He pushes into you, unnecessarily - his fingers were long enough he could reach with his thumb without having to strain at all - to reach your hooded clit. He finds it expertly, rubbing it just so. You shudder, and he keeps going just as he was, but kisses down your neck to your nipple again, swirling it in his mouth, pulling it with his teeth slightly and you can feel yourself about to fall. You panic at the unexpected and unknown feeling and try to throw him off,

“Elvis! Elvis stop - stop I can’t - I can’t do it, it’s too much - you gotta, you gotta st-“ You’re thrashing about the place, arms flailing as you try to push him away, but his fingers don’t stop and he hushes you as he’s suddenly stroking this little spot inside of you. You can feel it’s different but can’t quite tell how until he crooks his fingers and presses. You shudder, your mouth falling open, although you’re still far quieter than he’d like - he makes a mental note that his aim tonight is to make you scream. And then you’re shaking, convulsing on his hand - stomach and core muscles clenching of their own accord. He rubs and strokes you through it. Your mind is blank and all you can feel is your thighs shaking - your head rolling from side to side. He keeps going and you keep going for him, clutching the covers in tight fists, mouth open in a silent scream as one of your legs randomly seems to jump about. He can tell you’re at the end of what you can do for him at the moment. He softlypulls his fingers out, trying to bring you down gently. His fingers leaving feather-light touches across your mound and thighs.

“That good, baby?” He pats his sticky, wet hand on your tummy and you can’t speak, taking heaving breaths.

“W-was,” You’re slurring as you come back to, your ears ringing, “Is that, what I’ve been missing? Is that meant to happen?” He laughs at you, finger drawing little shapes on your stomach,

“Yeah, when you’re with someone who knows what they’re doing.” He puffs his chest out a little, clearly proud of himself, “A real man.” You laugh, and he kisses you again and again until your lips are swollen and bitten raw and you’re gasping for air. You lay back for a few more moments, looking up at him leaning over you. He moves his arm, and you’re not quite sure what comes over you, but the movement had spread his shirt even more and it’s not something you’d ever considered doing ever before, but he did do it to you earlier so you gain the courage to ask;

“El- can I, can I…please can I taste you?” He raises a brow at your polite request, but is not going to turn down such an offer,

“Sure baby, lemme get lil’ Elvie out now - “ You frown, interrupting him.

“No, no… can I just… like you did earlier?” He looks slightly confused, his brow furrowed, but he agrees nonchalantly - clearly used to letting whoever do whatever they like with his body.

“Sure - “ He starts to say something else, but you’re too distracted by the permission, rushing forward to kiss his chest, moving down to capture his nipple. He jerks,

“Christ - Oh lord,” You’re practically suckling him, one hand threading through his chest hair, feeling his stomach, the hard line where he’s definitely still muscular somewhere underneath but is soft and cushy above, grasping at his pillowy sides. His hips are bucking, circling with the effort not to throw you off accidentally, “Oh gods, baby, christ little one, lord, oh lord.” He’s unable to be silent, constantly babbling a stream of curses and praise. You pull off, and suddenly, you’re mortified.

“Oh my goodness, Oh, Elvis, I - uh, sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” You’re shocked at yourself but he’s panting, and you can feel him straining against his pants.

“Oh darlin’, lord, darlin’ it’sss ok, it’s so good, so good baby. Love your lil’ mouth on me.” You smile a little bashfully as he pats at you as if praising a dog. “Think now little Elvis would too baby, get him out - show him how much you ‘preciate him too?” You pant back at him nodding your agreement. He’s resting further up on the bed than he was before, you’d both travelled around the last few minutes and he sits to take his shirt fully off, before unbuttoning his trousers finally and wriggling out of them. He shuffles further back and you get yourself situated between his legs, bracketed by his thick thighs on either side of you, their covering of downy hair tickling your sides. You lean down, gently stroking his hardening cock - but then pause,

“Elvis, I ain’t ever - you gotta tell me how to do it.” He groans, his head falling back,

“Goddamn, like you were made for me, fucking made for me honey,” he peers down at you, over the slight swell of his stomach, tucking his chin in - one of his meaty fingers stroked the side of your face before gently grasping your head, lowering it to his cock. “You gotta, gotta say hello little one, give ‘im a little hello kiss now - “ You do as he says, brushing your lips against the very tip. You’d seen it briefly before, so although not this close, and you had given him a … helping hand over the past few weeks so you’re not surprised to see he’s uncut nor at the size of him - generous in length and girth, but it’s still fascinating to you up close. You can't help but study it briefly - assessing how his foreskin is starting to retract back slightly and you absentmindedly reach for it, gently rolling it forward and back a little bit, unsure how far it should go. His hips jerk,

“Christ, baby, you gotta warn a man first.” You smile, meeting his blazing blue eyes and amused expression.

“Sorry - I thought me being here was warning enough.” He laughs and pats your cheek.

“Right little one, back to work. Kiss down little Elvis, let him know how much you wanted to see him - ‘ You obey his orders, pressing little kisses all the way down his shaft. “Ok, now doll you're gonna take him in that hot little mouth of yours - gonna be re-eal careful of your sharp little teeth, got it?” You obediently bob up and down in a nod, making sure not to scrape him.

Instinct seems to kick in and you take a moment to suck down on him, flattening your tongue against his underside. His other hand finds its way into your hair accompanying the one still resting on your cheek and neck, hand spanning across the distance. His hip jerks forward and it causes his dick to knock further back than you were expecting and you pull back with a little cough.

“S’ok baby, sorry, felt so good, couldn't help myself, not gonna make you take all of him tonight, you can use your hand go on, show the rest of him how much you love him.” He pats you again and it’s enough encouragement for you to go back down on him. You do as he suggested, stroking and pulling him with your hand where your mouth can't comfortably reach, growing bold enough to reach down and delicately hold and stroke his balls. His hands are insistent on your head, not forcing you but certainly moving you exactly how he wants you. You can taste the thin salty trickle of precum starting to dribble out of him.

“That’s it, baby, I was already so close, just from touchin’ ya honey, just gotta suck me just like that, that’s it like a damn popsicle.” His hands grow a little rougher, tugging on your hair slightly, as his hips circle and his thighs clench around you. “Gonna, you gonna stroke me now, yittle, you just gonna stroke me, I’ll let you have a taste, give you a treat but that’s enough for now - ’s about you tonight, about you honey.” He's babbling now, and you're not paying much attention to his words coming out of his mouth except when his request filters through to your brain, and you pull off with a little wet pop, stroking him to completion. He squirts over your hand - ribbons of white hitting you on the chin and chest, moaning as he does and his eyes falling closed.

He leans back, breathing heavily as his cock finishes jumping about, slowly softening before your eyes and you glance around, before grabbing his discarded shirt to wipe your hand on. Before you can raise it to your chin to wipe it off of there he sits up and moves his hand from your face to swipe a finger through it. “C’mon baby, gonna have you swallow it next time,” You're uncertain about this, but don’t bother to say anything right now as he rubs his fingers on your lips, “Go on, open up honey, have a taste for me. Lick it clean.” You do as he commands, tasting the salty tang of a man’s cum for the first time. It's not wholly unpleasant, although you're not sure about the texture, but you can’t say you'd be jumping for joy at the prospect of swallowing his full load. He watches as you suck his fingers, licking them completely clean looking up at him under your lashes as you do.

He leans forward to kiss you but then suddenly grimaces, frowning. Twisting slightly in an attempt to relieve some of the tension from his hips and back.

“I’m sorry, honey, but I gotta- I gotta lie down again.” You frown, worried.

“Of course! don’t - you’re meant to be relaxing!” He’s proven himself to you - taught you that there was something on the other side of the cliff edge and it was good. But you weren’t worried - didn’t see any reason to continue, you’d both been taken care of and you were now perfectly happy to be tucked up in bed for the night.

“Oh no, I don’t mean I’m done. Get over here, little girl…” He manhandles you, ringed fingers digging into your thighs as he arranges you over the top of him. He then lies down, sliding between your legs, before huffing a tiny bit as he heaves you up from his chest and down onto him. “That’s it, mama, right over my face. Lemme get to that poor little kitty of yours.” You’re confused as to what he’s going to be able to achieve from this angle - he can’t possibly just want such a closer look, can he? But then, without warning, he pushes his head up licking down your labia before pulling you off balance to literally sit on his face.

“Woah - Oh, Elvis I’m gonna hurt you like this, I can’t just - I’m too heavy!” You try to move away but you can’t escape from his tight grip.

“Ain’t gonna hurt a fly baby - lemme just.” And he pushes his tongue into you, spearing into your hole. You’re sopping wet already, his fingers having seen to that, and the noises are obscene - the wet smacking and sucking.

“Elv-oh my god, Elvis you can’t-“ You try to get off but his hands don’t let you move at all - pinning you onto him. But as you struggle your thighs touch and you can feel the wetness and the stickiness that’s spread throughout - tangling your curls, sticking your thighs. “It’s- it’s - it’s dirty, you can’t, you shouldn’t - that shouldn’t, you’re not meant to do that.” You can feel him chuckle, the vibration making you gasp, but he doesn’t even respond, simply holds you down and goes harder.

You’re supporting most of your weight on your own legs but every time you clench or move you can feel his fingers digging tighter in - sure you’ll have bruises where his rings and fingertips have been. You can’t help but move, grinding onto his mouth. It’s outrageous and you can’t believe this is something people do, but now it’s happening you wonder how you’ve lived this long without it, without knowing how this feels. His tongue is flicking between lapping at your hole and your inner folds. Your hips circle and one of his hands comes around your thigh - curling around to join his mouth. He moves his mouth up to suck on your clit, and the warm wet pressure, the suction, the everything - it’s too much. You’re losing control again, fighting the panic for a second time that evening - but this time, the pressure is growing even stronger and though you recognise the feeling now it feels different.

“Oh my god, Elvis, god, Elvis, Elvis please, please, you gotta stop! I’m gonna-” You grind your hips again, but he must be able to hear the sudden change in your tone - the sudden, very real, panic. And despite his instinct telling him not to he worries it’ll make you lose your relaxed state and he pulls away, kissing your inner thigh,

“Relax baby, dontcha worry, oh my poor baby’s little neglected pussy - you’ve got no idea, just been waiting for a real man, for daddy, to show you what you’ve been missin’ all this time.” He croons into you, hands stroking your thighs, soothing you into compliance. As soon as you relax into his hold again he surges forward once more. Your folds are swollen and slick, feeling like they’re burning, you feel so hot. And your entire focus is on your cunt and Elvis. Unable to even think about your thigh cramping or your foot falling asleep. He kisses up you, capturing your little puffy clit in his lips again and sucks hard. You think you might be about to pass out - it feels so overwhelming, but suddenly the pressure changes - and as he slips a finger back inside you it starts to feel a little too similar to something else.

Your panicked noises come back out, and you once again are begging Elvis to stop warning him; “I think I’m gonna pee, Elvis, seriously! I can’t - I can’t hold it! Elvis - daddy, fuck, I can’t, I seriously think I’m gonna - gonna pee.” But he doesn’t stop this time, not even to reassure you, just continuing his steady ministrations, speeding up, and the pressure is steadily mounting again, reaching the peak. Your orgasm rips through you and you have to throw your hands out to support yourself on the headboard to simply stay upright but you’re barely able to think about it, moving on instinct alone. You’re shuddering and he’s continuing, won’t leave you be. And then, the pressure seems to burst - slowly yet somehow quicker than anything you’re ever felt. It’s like your vagina is simultaneously your whole body and also entirely separate from your body as it clenches before you’re gushing, liquid shooting out of you. It drenches his face, it’s in his hair, in his sideburns, and he sits up, as you fall off of him to one side, and he’s glistening.

You’re in a daze but a little embarrassed, both at him covered in your juices and that he was right and you were wrong about your abilities. But his reaction makes you second guess your immediate response - he’s grinning, licking his goddamn lips like he’s just eaten the best-tasting dessert of his life. He uses one of your discarded shirts to wipe his face off, smiling at the damp patches it causes.

“There we are baby, Daddy got’cha there, got you to that special place - that’s what it’s meant to be like darling. Told you didn’t I, told you, you just gotta listen to me, let yourself go.”

You lay back panting - you’re a little sore and a lot tired and you’re sure you’re done. You can feel his cock hardening against you again in a gentle coaxing sort of way, and you reach over a hand. You can do this, but you’ve just not got the energy for anything else - and your pussy is still pulsing, soft and swollen and puffy. He bats your hand away though,

“Right, mama, gonna show you how it’s really done, you’re gonna reach your little o on my cock, and you’re gonna know that’s how it should be every time.” He kneels up on the bed, pulling you up onto your knees too, and he’s putting you exactly where he wants you. You want to refuse, but he’s so convincing, and you are a little curious at how he might be able to make even this so spectacular for you, an act that you’d been ambivalent about, mostly put up with; knowing it was something women just did to keep their partners happy. He manhandles you into the perfect position for him, your back slightly arched, hands clutching the top of the headboard and he brushes your sweaty hair off of your neck, kissing where it lay before.

You stay where he puts you, slightly shell-shocked at your easy compliance, and at what he’s suggesting. You glance up from under your lashes and notice the huge mirror above the bed - you’d seen the one above yourself in the bed but not the glass above the headboard - and can see how you look. You watch your face contort slightly as he presses a few of his fingers into you again, testing if you’re ready. But you’re loose, in a novel sort of way - so aroused that it’s easy in a way it’s never been before. You’re studying your fucked out face, shocked at how wide your pupils are, the redness of your lips and cheeks, before you turn your attention to Elvis watching his rosy reflection - his hair sticking down, body and chest shimmering with sweat, clinging to his chest hair, his plush lips bitten red and his face still with a hint of damp, blue eyes sparkling. You’re about to utter something completely embarrassing like, “Oh my god, you’re so pretty,” or “I love you.” But you’re (somewhat thankfully) distracted by him rubbing himself on you a couple of times before fucking into you. You jolt forward, mouth falling open as he simply pushes his whole length in, immediately pulling back out to shutter his hips forward again - gripping your waist and pulling you back onto him too. You’re shouting, finally, garbled noises and moans as he gives you no time to adjust and instead slams you back and forth to him, his balls slapping against your wet skin.

He spanks your ass and you shudder, the tinge of pain mixed with the pleasure of him hitting that spot in you, getting in so deep you feel like he’s in your soul and not just your body. You can feel yourself starting to go again, starting to ride the crest of that wave when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror again and you can barely breathe, noises catching in your throat at the sight.

“That’s it sweet, that’s it sugar, look at yourself,” He wraps an arm over your chest and grips your chin, pointing it straight at the mirror, “Look at us honey.” You can see him behind you, behind your flushed body - himself pink and damp with sweat from the exertion, its practically dripping down his forehead and onto his chest - he lets go of your chin and moves one hand to fondle your breasts, pinching your nipples, the other to slip between your legs. You jerk when he strokes where the two of you are joined. It’s filthy. You’ve never been this visible like this before, having very much been under the covers with previous lovers, and your knowledge of positions was limited to on your back, on your front and your side. Very much lying down. The image of his cock sliding into your folds, the pink fuzzy base barely visible through your own fuzz and his hand splayed over your stomach as if supporting where he sits internally is filthy in the best possible way.

You feel utterly surrounded by him, you can’t think of anything but how he feels, how he looks, you can’t sense anything else. You can’t see anything but him, it’s all him as you look around - the mirrors on the back wall and above you reflect back the image of the two of you, but your eyes skip over yourself only seeing him. His thick form. He’s muscular in a solid way, an accidental way, and the layer of softness that covers all of him, but especially over his tummy, only makes him more attractive to you, more real. When you close your eyes the vision of him is imprinted on your eyelids, and all you can smell is him. He’s got a slight sweaty musk to him from the exertion and activity, but under it you can still smell the hint of his cologne. His sheets smell aggressively like him, like the Vegas him and the home him - he must use the same products (or his laundry service must) wherever he is. The room too - there’s his unique blend of homely smells but also the heavy scent of the blend of his favourite specific brands of cigarettes and cigars. The smoke, despite him claiming he only smoked very irregularly, clings to his thick curtains and the drapes that surround the room. The room which screams, as much as the rest of his house does, of him - of solely him, of his outrageous, outlandish, tacky, wonderful, style.

You aren’t able to have any of these thoughts though, as his fingers stroke himself before once again finding your clit. He captures it between his fingers, rolling it, before brushing his finger over it and before you know it you’re quivering - shaking as your orgasm overcomes you again. It’s too much, your body has barely had a chance to recover and while you’re not passed out you’re also not…all there. Your body slack as Elvis holds you up, just a rag doll for him to take what he needs for his own orgasm - chasing his completion. He does, barely a few strokes later, a litany of praises spilling out of his mouth, pulling out as quickly as he could, seemingly caught a little by surprise. And you can feel the last few sprays from him as he splatters over your already sticky and trembling body. You slump down without him holding you up by the waist and hips, and he catches you - laying you out on the bed. He lays next to you, panting, chest heaving for a few moments before propping himself up on an elbow next to you.

You’re sore, internally and externally and worse - sticky, but he doesn’t let you sleep yet, running his cum-covered fingers through your soft pubic hair, before tracing shapes on your lower tummy, gently brushing lower and lower until his fingers are stroking through your sticky soft folds. You squirm, sleepy, and he hushes you,

“C’mon baby doll, give me one more, gotta make up for lost time darling. Give em all to you tonight. One more baby, c’mon do it for daddy, give daddy one more.” He’s speaking lowly, so as not to disturb your sleepy state, but what he’s asking you to do is bringing you back to awareness. He’s barely touching you, nudging your little stretched hole with his wet fingers, barely pressing the outer rim before delicately stroking your sore, puffy, clitoris again. You feel your legs shaking, seemingly of their own accord, and can’t focus on anything he says, resorting to begging over top of his continued whispers;

“I can’t, I can’t, Elvis please, daddy, please, it’s too much, I can’t,” but you’re already so close to the edge that you gasp, mouth open, as he inserts his fingers again, and it only takes him crooking them just so for you to shudder and scream. It’s borderline painful, and your legs are shaking, “Lord, daddy! Oh my god, Elvis, daddy, oh my lord. Oh - “ and as he continues to stroke that little place inside of you, as you ride the waves that wash over you, your words trail off to just noises. You're practically yowling as you slump over, still shuddering and stomach still convulsing when he slows his ministrations and pulls his fingers away. Your vision is white and black and you can't focus on anything he's saying through your ringing ears although you're aware he's talking. It takes a few minutes for your body to calm down, Elvis’ large hands gently rubbing you down like a horse after a race, and it's not until your heart rate slows again that you’re able to open your eyes and try to focus on what he's saying.

“Told you didn’t I, you gonna learn to believe your daddy now? Believe what he tells you?” He’s unbelievably smug and you can hear it in his voice, and in the way his eyes crinkle looking down at you.

“Course, Daddy,” You blush, “Elvis. Of course, I just - I just didn’t know! I didn’t know what that was…inside me.” He laughs,

“Well, not everyone can find it doll, it keeps itself real hidden like, less you’re just the right fit.” He squeezes your cheek as he says it before he pats you again and heaves himself up into standing. “Right honey, gonna have to get you all cleaned up - you’ll be drippin’ all night else.” You wince as he wipes at you with a little towel, even his expensive cotton too much abrasion on your still throbbing centre. You roll into the bed, far too exhausted to even stand up, and your eyes are closing as he comes back over with a glass of water, he makes you drink half and you do so, sleepily, while he maintains his grip on the glass. “We’ll have to shower in the morning honey, think you’re fixin’ for a snooze now.” He pulls the top comforter off, throwing it on the floor, and you can just see through your hazy tired gaze that there’s a large wet spot on it. “Least we ain’t gotta change the bed.” He mumbles as he climbs into it. You squirm as he pulls you close against your chest and his hands find their customary positions - one just a little too close to between your thighs but he pets and shushes you, humming a tiny lullaby that makes you fall deep asleep almost immediately.

#elvis smut #elvis x you #elvis x reader #elvis fanfic #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x reader #fic request!!#be-my-ally #big daddy elvis

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be-my-ally · 2 years ago

Text

I wouldn't tell you no lie

innocent reader x elvis request.

pairing: afab!reader x elvis (’68-71 elvis described; as in the pics below)

warning: 18+, 18+, innocence kink, first times - reader gives elvis a handjob - with the promise of more in the future, and is kissed for the first time.

summary: innocent reader has been very sheltered but is now on tour with Elvis, she’s never been allowed to even look at the body of a man but accidentally walks in on Elvis changing and has questions - questions that Elvis is only too happy to answer.

wc: 4.2k

I watched girl happy three times while writing this for absolutely no reason; title is from ‘cross my heart and hope to die’ so that’s probably suggested listening.

also while I have everyone's attention I just wanted to say thank u to everyone for being so lovely + supportive with my silly little fics + a thank u for 200 followers!!!

You nod at Sonny on the way in, who offers you a slightly mischievous grin in response as you walk past. You wonder what kind of set-up you’re walking into; the boys, well, men, but boys, were known for their practical jokes and you had been jumped out at more than a fair few times. So you’re tense when you walk into the hotel room — Elvis was expecting you, or so you thought, and you were surprised when you walk in and you’re the only one in there, not even Elvis to be seen. But as you look around, ducking to check under the bed just in case he was planning on trying to scare you, you suddenly hear his voice from the bathroom, singing in the shower. It’s gorgeous, and not at all rushed, you can hear him repeating verses and changing the scale and pitch as he goes. You consider if you should just leave at this point; you’d only wanted him for a quick question about the arrangements for tonight but who knows how long he’ll be now. But then you think how weird it would be for him to know you were here but had gone before you had the chance to talk to him. So instead of leaving you plop yourself down on one of the couches to wait.

You glance around the room — it’s a lot nicer than yours, and although it’s probably one of the smaller rooms that he’d been put in recently it’s still pretty large. Just the one room rather than a suite; a large king bed and dressing area on one side of the room along with a tv facing the bed, and a full living area — complete with couches and a coffee table at the other end. You’re considering what to tell your mama when she rings this evening; since joining the tour you’ve had to …amend some of your tales of your days to her, knowing that some of the antics that go on would be enough for her to demand you come home immediately if she were to find out. But you’re not a good liar - you have to plan what to say to her.

Elvis walks out of his bathroom, towel slung low around his hips. You gape at him from the couch, twisting to peer over the back at him; looking at his still damp and glistening chest and arms, his hair wet and slicked back, off of his face, pink from the heat of the shower — which you could feel in the steam that escaped through the open door when he emerged. There didn’t seem to be much point to the towel as barely a moment later he was throwing it aside, peering in the closet to find his clothes while completely nude. He doesn’t notice you sat on the couch waiting for him, and you hesitate to draw attention to yourself now - you’re blushing and mortified at what you’ve just seen; the behind of a man’s naked body. Wet and pink, the movement of his muscles as he bent over; his ass — the only reference point you had was in comparison with your own; his looked much firmer and solid, or with statues you’d seen in textbooks; his looked softer, but not too dissimilar. You’re trying not to stare, you know you shouldn’t even be looking, but you also can’t help that your curiosity is getting the better of you.

You’re mentally debating what to do and what your options are when he turns around again, and before he spots you, you spot it, hanging gently between his legs and you can’t hold back your gasp. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen one in real life, even the anatomical sketches in textbooks often being taken out of your hands by your over-zealous mother, it wasn’t something girls like you needed to worry about until you were married; she wasn’t risking that you were going to become one of those outrageous free-love hippy types. You struggle to even name it in your head, euphemisms coming to the forefront and your brain has to scream — be an adult, it’s just a penis, at you as you struggle to think beyond childish words. Despite this thought running through your head a glance is all you’re allowed - your gasp having alerted him to your presence. Immediately his head swings up to look at who’s in his room. He goes through phases of extreme body shyness and body confidence - often depending on his weight, but at the moment he’s fit and healthy and keen to show off. So he doesn’t immediately go to cover up, but you can see his brain whirring thinking of the insult he’s about to shout at whoever he thinks it was intruding; Jerry maybe, he’s never far away, or Sonny from outside. However, upon seeing it’s you he swears, grabbing the towel off the floor and wrapping it around his hips again. You know you should have immediately looked away, but you couldn’t help but continue to stare as he moves, as it moves with him, until he’s all covered up again.

“Goddamn, honey, give a man a heart attack sat all quiet like a mouse there like that.” His voice is quiet, but amused, and pulls you away from where you’re still staring at his now towel-covered crotch. You stutter through an apology;

“Oh, uh, oh, I’m so sorry, oh gosh - sorry! So sorry!” He laughs, and you’re distracted enough now to look at his face. It doesn’t help a whole lot, you’ve always liked how he looks - you’ve always thought he had kind eyes and a smile that made your tummy tingle but with how he looks at the moment, his cheekbones so prominent and his sideburns starting to accentuate his face even more you find yourself thinking that you like this iteration of him an awful lot; perhaps the strange feelings from your look at him a moment ago have preoccupied your mind too much - you’re suddenly unable to think of much else but how handsome he looks. You blush even harder than you were before - you can feel the heat rising off of your cheeks.

“Give me a second hon,” and he disappears into the bathroom with his clothes again, you’re shielding your eyes when he comes back, both out of embarrassment and concern that something similar may happen again, “S’ok baby, I’m decent enough now.” He smiles at you, and you lower your hands to see that he was, indeed, now fully dressed. He’s put on one of the drawstring shirts he’s been so fond of recently, the top loose and open - the hard line of his chest peeking out of the large open collar. But you were at least used to the sight of that; it had shocked you at first, but now you’ve been around for a few weeks you had grown used to it. He’s buckling a pretty gaudy belt on top of his fitted, slightly flared, black trousers as he walks out. He’s acting as if nothing had happened - continuing to go about his business putting on cologne and his jewellery, necklaces now hanging down in the open collar. He looks back at you through the mirror on the dressing table that was at an angle, allowing him to see you still peering over the back of the sofa.

“What did you need honey?” You’ve always found yourself a little giggly around him, a little desperate for his attention and you’ve always understood that was partly because he was so attractive, and partly the force of his personality. But now, knowing what he looks like underneath his clothes has, for some reason, made your mouth go dry as you look at him. You try to recall the reason you were there but it had completely escaped you, and rather than answer his question you had to ask a burning one of your own -

“I came to see if you, if you wanted - El, what - what was that … between your legs?” He pauses. Staring back at you in the mirror,

“What do you mean? It was my dick baby,” You gasp, but you’re pleased to know that your earlier thoughts had been correct.

“Is that - that’s what they look like?” He’s shocked and he turns around to face you, properly, but he’s also smiling like he’s just heard an amusing joke.

“Well, some of ‘em are quite a lot smaller, but yeah it’s pretty typical looking, for… for an unc-, no yeah it’s pretty typical.” He looks down, and you can see him thinking about something but he doesn’t expand any further, crossing his arms and leaning against the table.

“So, do you not… you don’t have a kitty like I do down there?” He frowns at you, shaking his head, he’d thought you were playing with him a moment ago, but now he’s not too sure; “Like at all?” He laughs,

“No honey, no, uh that’s uh - that’s how boys and girls are different - you got a set of holes in your kitty, and we got… we got penises and uh, balls.” You nod, you already knew that, of course, but you hadn’t known it was just one or the other - you’d always assumed that men just had, extra equipment to yours. You start to think of things to say to change the subject, satisfied to finally understand the difference between men and women, before a thought pops into your head that you have to ask while you have him in front of you and willing to tell you things others never did. You wrinkle your nose asking;

“Well then … how d’ya pee?” He laughs, coming towards you and sits down on the couch next to you while he thinks of how to respond,

“What do you me- do you think you pee out of the same place?” You nod, of course. He laughs at you, his eyes crinkling as he shakes his head,

“Um no sweetheart, You uh, you have a separate little hole; gonna have to get you a mirror and have you take a look baby - but I, well I pee out of a little slit at the head.” You don’t believe him — you know where you pee from, and it’s the same place that gets wet every now and again; otherwise what is that? But you’re too distracted by his own anatomy.

“Like - like a mouth?” You’re aghast, dreaming up a horrifying looking image. But he laughs,

“No, no - not, not quite like that.”

“Well then I don’t know what you mean, I’m sorry, I just, I just can’t picture it.” His gears are turning in his head and he stays silent for a moment before saying,

“Would it be easier to understand if I showed you?” On the one hand your mother had always told you not be alone, or naked with a boy unless you were going to get married, so you should say no. On the other though you were so curious. And really this seemed like information you should know as an adult! So you nod,

“Oh would you!” You watch as he swallows, his adams apple bobbing - almost as if he was nervous, but he couldn’t possibly be. He starts to unbutton the trousers he’d just a moment put on. He pauses when they’re undone, as if he’s considering if he should take them all the way off. In the end you stare as he shoves them down to his knees, stops and then steps all the way out. You get to look over at him again, this time much closer.

When you reach out with one gentle, tentative hand and brush your fingers over it, he jumps as if he’d been hurt and you pull your hand back as if you’d been burnt. “No, no, baby it’s fine - go on, you can touch it.” You don’t want to hurt him, just for the sake of satisfying your curiosity, but when you looked up at him he’d smiled encouragingly at you, reassuring you enough that you reach out again. You gently skim your fingertips over it again, you’re fascinated by how it seems a darker colour than the rest of his skin, the strange feel of the simultaneously silky but wrinkled and soft but taut skin. You gently wrap your hand around it, feeling the strange mix of hard and soft and its heated temperature. You squeeze, gently, and brush a finger over the head. Where you can see, just behind, a little wrinkle of skin has left it exposed and shiny where it was half-covered before. Elvis had been desperately trying to remain silent and still but with that move he can’t and he lets out a high-pitched moan. You snatch your hand back, he’d sounded wounded. Apologising profusely,

“Sorry, sorry - Elvis, sorry, I didn’t know, didn’t know that would hurt you, sorry! I, uh, I’m so sorry you can, you can put your trousers back -” He interrupts you, bright red and blushing, but his pupils blown wide and lips red with where he’d bitten them, as he quickly attempts to reassure you;

“No no, no I’m fine darling. It feels too good s’all. It’s just, you’re making me feel so good baby, so good.” You frown, uncertain - it doesn’t look like it’s feeling good, it looks hot and sore to you. “I promise, sweet thing, promise - you can put your hand back on, if you - do you want, want me to show you how to make me feel really good?” You’re still not sure, and he continues, pleading, “C’mon baby, my pretty little yittle baby - you, you know you are right? My baby, my little girl, you gonna make me so happy?” He looks down at you, earnest eyes meeting your wide ones. “Gonna show you how to do it? How ta, how ta please a man? Please me? Treat me nice; let me show you how to help me?” You couldn’t deny his desperate pleads anymore and you nod, steeling yourself to try again, reminding yourself you weren’t hurting him, you were helping him.

“I, I - ok, but you hafta, you hafta tell me how El, I can’t - I don’t wanna hurt you or anything like that.”

“You won’t, you won’t baby, just, just wrap your little hand around it, there,” He smiles encouragingly at you as you do as he requests; nervously wrapping your hand around and rubbing it up to the tip. You stroke a finger across the shiny pink end and stare, fascinated, as a bead of thin white liquid forms at the tip. You gasp, pulling your hand away when your finger accidentally touches it.

“Gosh, it’s leaking! Oh ew Elvis! — don’t pee on me. That’s disgusting!” You shake your hand, holding it away from you. He’s quick to grab your wrist before you can wipe it on the couch, correcting you,

“No, no, no, baby it’s not, it’s not pee. It’s uh, it’s… it’s what makes babies, darling, but this little bit of it is, it’s the same as why you get wet down there. Bet your little panties are clear through right now.” You blush, how could he know that you sometimes, unknowingly, seemed to wet your pants,

“Elvis - don’t, it don’t happen often enough for you to accuse me of peeing my pants,” his laugh in response is strained.

“No, no, baby, it’s not pee, it’s slick baby - it’s saying … that your little kitty wants something in it … wants someone to touch it.” He pauses, suddenly realising that he’s your only point of reference for any of this — “but you mustn’t - not ’til you’re completely alone, or, or, with me - you understand?” You frantically nod and he continues talking, satisfied he’d impressed that upon you sufficiently; “and it's making that because it wants to make it easier for a uh, for uh a penis to go in there. That’s how babies are made sweetheart.” You frown,

“My mama always told me you got given one from the church where you got married - you prayed hard enough and it got put in your tummy like Jesus and Mary,” he smiles,

“I think your mama was very smart - tryin’ to keep you innocent but I swear… I promise I’m tellin’ the truth.” For some reason, you believe him. And he can tell, moving your hand back onto him, the thin sticky wetness cooling on your fingers;

You stop, a hair’s breadth away from touching him - looking up at him, “So, uh, so - if we’re alone I can, you’ll let me touch myself too?”

“Of course honey, of course, I’ll even touch you myself — but right now, I need you to move your hand a little, ok baby? Think you can do that? Just gotta listen to me, ok?” You nod, suddenly determined to show him that you can take instruction. Your hand trembles as you reach it out again, and he tucks it under his own fingers, firmly but gently placing it back onto his length. You’re again surprised at the heat, and how it somehow seems to have firmed up even further.

He directs your hand, his palm on the back of yours, both in pressure and movement. You feel him jerk underneath your palm and you can’t help but jump in slight surprise,

“S’ok, s’ok baby, just feels good. Tha-tha- that’s just right darling.” It doesn’t take long before his hips are stuttering, and you’re starting to understand the motion and technique that makes him groan in pleasure. He grips the back of the sofa over the top of you, releasing your hands and caging you in between his arms; it puts you at an awkward angle, and you wriggle up to get onto your knees. It puts your head back near his chest height rather than directly facing his crotch and, though you were fascinated by what was going on, you were slightly relieved at the distance. Now that you’re in sole control you feel free to experiment to your heart’s content, twisting your hand and stroking a gentle finger down to his tip. You watch as a thin stream pulses out at the feel of that, and he lets out a little cry;

“Don’t, don’t tease me baby, s’not nice, not when I’m bein’ so kind - lettin’ you learn like this. Showin’ you what ain’t seen ‘fore.” You nod, feeling slightly chastised even at his soft words, and return your grip. You giggle, suddenly thinking that in some ways it reminds you of milking a cow. All this tugging and twisting. He groans above you again, begging -

“Can, I, sweetheart - can I kiss you?” He cups your cheek with one of his hands, distracting you and pulling your eyes up to meet his. You nod, whispering agreement, and you think frantically for a moment if you should warn him - tell him that you haven’t done this before either but before you have the chance he’s cupping your cheek and bending over capturing your mouth in his.

You press your lips to his, and he responds in kind, but a second later you’re shocked when he opens his slightly, suckling on your lower lip. He pulls it back a tiny bit with his teeth and you whine at the little sting, but also at the sudden butterflies springing in your belly. You don’t know what else to expect, and go to pull away, but his hand cups the back of your head, holding you in place so you’re forced to breathe through your nose and let him continue. Your hand squeezes involuntarily at the action and he falls even closer to you, pulling you so that your arm is sandwiched between you both. He pushes his tongue against yours, and you can feel his little smile when you catch the hint, letting him push it into your mouth. You feel awkward, uncertain what to do with your own tongue, and you don’t know where you should be looking - he’s got his eyes closed but you can’t help but watch his face - stare at the arch of his nose and his long lashes. You melt against him as his tongue continues to map your mouth, not even realising that you’re chasing his lips wherever they move or that you’re making tiny little gasping noises. It feels weird but certainly not something you’re opposed to, now you’ve felt it, and you certainly are getting pleasure from it, little zings going straight to your core as he brushes over your teeth and cheeks. He pulls back for a second, panting,

“Was that - have you done that before?” You shake your head, and his hangs forward, chin resting on the top of your head, groaning. “Lord, baby, what I wanna do to you.” You twist your hand, where it was still holding him, although slightly forgotten in the heat of the moment that had just passed, and he moans again, his head lifting to fall back the other way.

“That’s it baby, that’s it.” He’s gabbling approval at you, and you somehow continue touching him. You narrate to him your actions as you do, feeling and hearing when something felt particularly good to him.

“Is that right? You like this? Is it better if I do this?” And you swipe your thumb over his head — he thrusts forward, his hand that was still cupping your head coming down to clutch at your shoulder.

“Just, almost there, I’m almost there. That’s it baby, doin’ so well for me. That’s it, oh god, that’s it.” He’s constantly talking, and you can feel his eyes watching you now, so you bring your other hand up, feeling around to the strangely soft and silky skin just behind his cock, you stroke that, while the other continues its ministrations. That seems to be enough to send him over the edge, as a moment later his hips stutter, and he yells out a curse as a milky stream spurts out of the end straight into your palm. You hold him through it, uncertain of what else to do, and you’re not sure if that’s all you need to do so your hand stays there until he whispers,

“S’ok little one, that’s me done. For the moment, that’s - uh, that’s not, that's not what you think - that’s babies there in ya hand.” You look up at him shocked, before looking back at your palm, suddenly panicked that you might have to be a mother now.

“Babies?!” He chuckles,

“Yeah, hon, but they don’t - they don’t grow unless I put ‘em in you.” You breathe a sigh of relief, “They don’t… you don’t only do that for the babies to grow though, it’s uh, its also because like what we just did - it feels good.” You nod, it’s starting to make an awful lot of sense, but you’ve still got that feeling in your tummy and his earlier accusation was right - you could feel your wetness now; although you’re far less ashamed of it now that you know it wasn’t pee. You squirm, and he strokes your face, just a single finger down your jaw, looking down at you before turning to put his trousers back on. He’s buckling up his belt, and you’re still sat there with the pooling ejaculate on your hand, it looks kind of similar to that thin icing, like your mama used to put on her pound cakes. And you’re tempted to have a tiny taste when he turns to grab something off of the side, but when you run a finger through it you’re put off by the texture, and the reminder that it came from him. He turns back to you, talking again and distracting you from your study.

“That’s all there is to it, baby - now you’ve seen me and you know. Know how to pleasure a man with your hands and the truth about babies - ain’t that a lot of learning for one day.” You’re about to ask if he could show you what he meant before, since your pussy was, with this heat and wetness, apparently begging to be touched. But you suddenly, as you wipe your hand on the handkerchief he pulled out from somewhere, feel quite overwhelmed. Maybe another day. Kissing and touching was more than enough for the one day. You stand up, as if to leave, and he rushes to you,

“No, no - what’s all this; I can see it on your face. Don’t you go worrying your pretty little head about any of it, ok baby? I’ll, I’ll show you what you need to know - don’t you go worrying ‘bout any of it.” You nod, you want to disagree but he looks so earnest and true, grown-up and handsome, that you can’t do anything but agree. “You’ll come to me if you have any other questions, right honey? ‘Fore you go anywhere else right?” He’s speaking authoritatively, like he’s giving you an order, and you can’t do anything but accept his words.

“Ok - El, ok. I’ll come to you - promise.”

#elvis smut #elvis smut request #be my ally #elvis x reader #elvis presley smut #elvis x you #elvis fanfic #elvis presley x reader #be-my-ally request

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