#empty promises | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

be-my-ally · 1 year

Text

The first meeting, and other firsts.

An Empty Promises chapter! Crossposted on ao3.

Fic 1 references events that are technically sandwiched between two sections of this one but the main events there take place after this, and on the phone comes after both.

So this series is a little like my baby… and I’ve had this half-written for ~ six weeks while I became distracted with literally everything else. It’s entirely self-indulgent - just finally giving some backstory to fic 1 and on the phone. I have two later smutty, shorts in the works too - because, honestly, Elvis just constantly wants to spank reader (who is a whole 5/6 years younger than me so is ABSOLUTELY not an author insert, no way…) and uh, I really don’t have a problem with that.

pairing: fem!reader x elvis (1964-5)

warnings: 18+, slight innocence kink, little bit of daddy kink, oral (p + v receiving) ... elvis reads reader's diary.

wc: 11.6k

You’d noticed him hanging around the past couple of nights, although you’d done your best to ignore him. It was difficult. His characteristic pretty face and charm drawing you in. He’d barely been through the door when you’d recognised him. Recognition came and with it, the sudden spike of adrenaline and nerves that made you almost too anxious to acknowledge him. You’d barely just had the courage to wave hello the first time, pleased that he was seated far enough down the counter that he was Louise’s responsibility and not yours - you weren’t sure you’d have been able to get yourself together as quickly as she had. He’d stayed for a single cup of coffee, black - although the envious looks he’d given to the cream and sugar on the table made you suspect this was learned behaviour rather than a true preference, looking like perhaps he had just wanted a few private moments to himself, before leaving pretty quickly and quietly. You assumed that was the first and last time you’d get to see him up close. You’d lain awake that night, regretting everything, wondering what could have been - at the very least you could have had a signed napkin or something. He’d been right there, you’d been able to see the comb-marks in his hair, where the strands had been split, the tiniest hint of a lighter brown at his roots, you’d been able to see his eyelashes - fluttering in pleasure at the heat of his drink. You couldn’t deny you’d studied him, even if you hadn’t managed to bring yourself to talk to him. Somehow though it had worked to your advantage; it must have been part of the reason he came back so many times in the following week - that so little fuss was being made of him in your quiet little diner.

The second time he’d come in with a group - all men, that had burst through the doors loudly; you’d looked up to frown at them for making such a racket when you’d noticed him in the middle of the crush. He’d looked up at you and you’d smiled shyly, your knees wobbling less this second time. You’d still had to take a deep breath before coming around to the two booths they’d squished themselves into, building yourself up for the faux nonchalant air you hoped you could give off. You’d managed to make it through their order without embarrassing yourself, although you know you blushed when you overheard one of them asking if they should “take out that pretty waitress?” You were the only one still working out front. But whoever had said it never materialised at the counter - and they’d left as raucously as they’d arrived not long after.

The third time he was drawing attention to himself - not intentionally but he had come at a far busier time of the day than the strange hours he’d come in in the past and well, he was pretty conspicuous despite his clear efforts to look smaller. Still, he’d signed everything anyone thrust at him, and had seemingly happily chatted and flirted with the girls that flocked around him. You felt awkward that you had a desire to join the gaggle of girls surrounding him, embarrassed now that you’d seen him not once, not twice but three times, and never said a word directly to him, to go over and ask for something as trivial as his autograph. Louise had left a little over ten minutes ago though, and with her the other girls who had turned out to be her friends, and now he was alone and you could see his cup was empty. You took a deep breath before heading over with the coffee jug to offer him a refill.

“Uh, would you, sorry - hello, would, could I - would you like another refill?” You tentatively manage to spit out, your hand shaking slightly. You pointedly don’t look directly at his face, staring at the cup on the table. He sounds amused when he replies;

“That’s mighty kind of you honey, thanks.” You go to pour, immediately splashing some on the table - although thankfully not on him. Although that may have been more becuase of his quick reflexes shifting his legs quickly out of the way.

“Oh, no, oh - gosh, sorry, let me just grab a -” You wipe it up with a napkin as you cringe, but when you start to walk away he grabs your wrist before it could leave the table.

“Could you - stay a while? I’ve been trying to catch you alone.” It’s the first time you look at him properly, and your breath catches in your throat, he’s so pretty. It’s startling to see him up close in person, so used to seeing it through the glass of a television screen or inanimate on a record sleeve - to watch his face change, his nostrils move as he breathes, his hair shift as his head moves is as intimate a thing as you could think. As you study him you notice that maybe the difference is in the makeup; the ability to see his pores, or the softer hair, falling into his face but either way he looks younger than he usually does. But at the same time, more solid, less transient and three dimensional - you can’t imagine refusing him a thing, especially with his eyes staring into yours, so much bluer than they looked on the screen. You nod, and he gestures to the seat in front of him.

“If - if someone comes in I’ll have to go - I can’t, I’m saving for college -” You look around nervously as you take the seat, but there’s just an elderly couple in the back corner booth and a workman on a stool - no-one who needed assistance or who hadn’t been served. He nods, agreeing, as if he could possibly understand the desire to keep a job out of necessity. So you sit there and talk. He’s polite, in that wonderfully southern way, but you can tell from the way his eyes glint, and the corners of his mouth turn that he’s also got a mischievous side that he’s trying to repress - that he’s trying to impress you somehow. It makes you squirm in the booth seat - how on earth could Elvis - Elvis who a few months ago was rumoured to be dating Ann-Margret be possibly trying to impress you? You don’t even know how he’s been managing to sneak around, be so on his own, how there’s not bodyguards and press. You’re a little town just outside of Memphis so it wasn’t like it was far for him to travel for a hint of anonymity, if that was what he was trying to achieve. But why he’s even in town at the moment is a mystery to you - shouldn’t he be off in Hollywood filming, or doing press? Why would a man of his age and position would even be interested in you. Sure, you’ve got enough self-awareness to know you’re okay looking - with enough make-up and your hair done you’re usually pretty satisfied; but you’re not California - not movie-star cute! Still, somehow he makes you forget your self-doubt when you’re lost watching his lips move as he talks. He looks you directly in the eyes, so hard that you’re always the first to look away, it’s difficult to handle the intensity of his gaze. But he’s chatty and kind, and doesn’t wholly monopolise the conversation - although you wouldn’t mind if he had; his life endlessly more entertaining than your own. So, despite your slight discomfort and nerves you sit there, and talk, and your celebrity crush rapidly blossoms into a real life crush right in your chest in real-time.

A week later, you’re going mad - falling hard. Even though you berate yourself for it - for getting ahead of yourself, for falling so easily - for so many reasons. You’ve seen him twice more at the diner, and by sitting elsewhere from the other boys, and ensuring he speaks only to you, he’s made it pretty clear you were his main purpose in coming. You would regret the fact that he’s not been coming in everyday, cursing whatever kept him, if it wasn’t for the fact that you’ve spoken to him on the phone every night. Sometimes twice a day, often little inane chats that mean nothing, but somehow everything.

You’ve never had a boy who talked to you like he did, like you were his friend. You wonder if you should find it weirder, that he likes this kind of talk, the kind of talk that you know how to do. You’ve always found boys so different - you’ve never known what to say to them. Found it awkward to know what to say without being accused of flirting, or alternatively being too aloof. But with him it’s easy - you chat about your days, he asks you what you’re wearing, what you’re thinking - he asks you about your friends, the daily dramas and who’s seeing who now; despite only knowing of them for such a short time he always seems interested in what you have to say. It’s novel in so many ways, to have someone care what you have to say, your parents were supportive but dismissive and you often felt on the fringes with your friends. Although you notice, but don’t think too much of it - his voice distraction enough, that whenever you try to bring up anything of a more serious nature, perhaps something you’d read in the paper he always tells you the same thing;

“That’s not for you to worry about darlin’.” So you don’t, in fact you stop worrying about a lot. He seems to be taking care of a lot of things for you.

He’s charming and handsome and flashy - famous, in a way that you struggle to wrap your head around. Wealthy in a way you can barely comprehend - he’s already sent you flowers and expensive dresses and had, just yesterday, palmed you a little box with a wonderfully thin, gold chain and heart pendant. Jewellery - jewellery for a girl he’s just met. And you know you’re getting ahead of yourself, you’ve only really known him a week or so but suddenly you find yourself hoping when he calls you doll, or baby or little girl that you’re his doll or baby, or that actually you’d be his girl. You know its too early and if she wasn’t already then your momma would be worried about you catching feelings this fast but you just can’t help it he’s just so, so… everything.

You’re leaving work, slightly later than usual and you hurry across the dark parking lot towards the sidewalk that would lead you to the short walk home. But when you’re halfway across you suddenly notice that he’s waiting for you, leaning against his car. He’s dressed up in black on black, his hair slicked up and back, and he looks so sleek and suave and just plain attractive that your tummy flips when you see him. You do a double take, not expecting to see him stood there so casually and you rush over to him. He kisses you on the cheek in greeting, like an adult - which, you think, you are but it still felt like you were playing grown-up most of the time, and you can feel the blush rising on your cheeks where his lips had touched you. His light hold on your waist. It’s the first time he’d done anything quite so obviously romantic. He opens the door and gestures you in,

“Thought I’d take you out?” You agree easily, it’s not too late that you’ll be expected home and even if you were there was no way you’d turn down this chance. But as you sit down and he goes around the car the thought pops into your head that maybe he didn’t mean any of it romantically, after all, why would he want to take you out? You’re probably misinterpreting everything. You silently panic, until, as he starts to drive away he glances over and grins at you; one of those grins where he looks more boy-next-door than movie star, and reaches over to pick up your hand, holding it in his and placing them, entwined, on his thigh. It’s that exact moment, as you stare at your joined hands, that you know you’re ruined. You’d give him whatever he wanted if it meant he’d continue to grip your hand in his like that. That there’s no coming back from this now - even if he only means to play with you or toy with your feelings you’d allow him, that if he wanted you to be his girl at home, like you’d heard he’d had - or one of his easy girlfriends, you’d agree. You’d agree to whatever tiny scrap of attention he would bestow on you that might recapture the tummy-flipping excitement, the immense happiness of having his attention on you.

He takes you out for a simple dinner, you’re actually a little surprised, he’d assured you that your dress was fine (although you were thankful you’d changed out of your uniform) so you weren’t expecting too much, but you were still surprised it wasn’t anywhere fancy but just simple good food, that he’d clearly enjoyed with gusto and a Pepsi to wash it down with. But, as you’re growing to know and understand him a little better you’re starting to realise that often it’s the simple things that remind him of home that he likes the most - he’d almost cried at a slice of pie in the diner, saying it tasted just like one that his mother liked. And now, dinner over, you sit there in a dress he’d sent you only a day before, that you’d decided against saving for best when another had arrived the next day, slightly lost for words. What do you even have to say to him that could interest him? He teases you about this, clearly understanding or simply used to girls going silent around him;

“What’s keepin’ you so quiet tonight? You just too busy thinking how cute I am?” He grins at you like a little boy, and you can’t help but return it. You relax, teasing him back,

“No - just thinking about how I should shimmy out the window in the bathroom.” He looks shocked for a a second before breaking out into infectious laughter; clearly not expecting the response. When you both stop giggling he puts his hand on the table, palm up, and waits for you to put your hand in his. When you do, he clasps it tight, turning it over, and examining your hand - he tuts at the bitten nails, but flips it back over without mentioning them further. He holds onto you when he speaks next.

“I want to make it really clear baby, in case I haven’t been so far. I don’t want you to misunderstand. I, -uh, I really think I could like you a lot, and I wanna get to know you more. I think I already do, doll, but I - I really think I’m already fallin’ for you a little. I’d like to do this again - take you out, and the like?” You hesitate he’s so overwhelmingly in a different world to you that you can’t imagine why he’s suggesting this - as much as you want to agree. You worry your lip as you think of what to say, his eyes boring into you.

“You won’t… you won’t be ashamed to be seen out with me? I’m a waitress Elvis, and I’m not even in college yet - I’m not like those other girls, I’m not an actress or anything; and I don’t wanna be.” He shakes his head,

“I’ve had them other girls honey, and I want you.” You look down at your still intertwined hands and you don’t know why you’re acting like you don’t know how you’re going to respond.

“Sure Elvis, sure, we can - give getting to know each other a go.” You want to question him, ask him about the other girls you hear he has, hasn’t he brought that girl over from Germany? But you can’t bring yourself to mention it, slightly worried that it might remind him of something, make him rescind the offer.

He wordlessly picks up the check, leaving ample cash although he made you simultaneously frown and laugh at the absurdity of it all when he confesses that he had no idea how much he left and that he doesn’t usually carry his own cash so he has no idea how much anything costs anymore. He opens the door for you as you leave, keeping his hand on the small of your back the whole time, and asks

“So what’dya say? Wanna come back with me - be my girl? Wanna take you home?” You stop, in the parking lot. That wasn’t quite what you’d discussed before.

“You want me to be your girl El? You sure?” He nods, hurrying back to grip your hands in both of his, looking at you deep into your eyes, pleading with you.

“Want you to be all mine baby, want you to come back to Graceland with me, we can play house honey, we can - look, I just - I take care of what’s mine and I just want you… want to treat you real nice. You won’t have to save or work anymore - you can, you can just do whatever you like.” It’s far more than you’d considered possible, but his blue eyes were so convincing and a tiny furrow forms in his brow that you just want to smooth out by any means possible. You almost don’t consider the implications of what he’s offering - far more than his girl, he’s offering you everything.

“Well, ok then.” He pauses with his hand on your car door handle, still holding one of your hands,

“Well, you don’t sound too enthus’astic ‘bout it.” He doesn’t sound pleased, and it causes butterflies to immediately form in your stomach worried that you’ve upset him - you’re desperate to reassure him - to please him again and you shake your head,

“No, no, I am, I promise - it’s beyond my wildest dreams, but uh- it’s just, you’re gonna have to convince my daddy yet first. He still wants me to go ta college - you know, make a real woman of myself, and I don’t see how that fits.” He smiles with utter confidence;

“Don’t-ya go worrying that little head of yours on that, I’ll deal with all that when it comes round to it.” He kisses your knuckles, before opening the door and pushing you in, walking around to the other side. You’d noticed before that he liked to touch you - it seemed to be his way, indiscriminately brushing his fingers over whatever he could reach. But now that you’d given him some form of permission his hand doesn’t leave your thigh the whole drive home, except for a moment when he catches your hand again, bringing it to his lips to press a kiss against your knuckles before bringing them together onto his thigh again. Much the same as the journey there.

You’ve never had this casual closeness with a boy before. Your tummy is flipping nervously the whole drive home - you can tell it’s entirely normal to him, and you don’t want to give off the impression that you aren’t also used to it. It feels grown-up, adult, in the same way that his kisses on your cheek hello make you feel mature despite your age. You don’t realise he can tell this, in the shifting of your legs beside him, the way that you hold his hand a little too tight. And you also can’t tell that he likes this, but he does. He pulls up, half a block away from your house.

“Don’t want the neighbours peepin’ baby, or your Pa comin’ out here with a shotgun.” He offers as an explanation when you look over at him puzzled. You wonder what on earth for, when he’s leaning an arm over the back of the seat, and wrapping it around you, pulling you in closer. Your thigh starting to overlap his. He looks down at you, at your lips, and you look back at his, nervous all of a sudden.

“Are you gonna, you gonna kiss me Elvis?” You whisper, nervously. He nods,

“If,” he rubs his neck a little bashfully, “If that’s alright with you, honey, I sure would like to.” You rush out an agreement, curling into his hold. He presses a hand to cup your chin, fingers brushing your neck, and brings your heads closer together. He smiles when you’re close and you’re almost giddy with excitement - you still can’t believe you’re about to kiss Elvis, and you’re trying not to think too hard about it, or worry yourself, but he grasps hold of you, in complete control, and suddenly you’re utterly confident that the situation - that you are in safe hands. When your lips finally do touch it’s not like a kiss you’ve ever had before, although you’d only had two, but in comparison it’s not at all like the wet slimy kiss of Trevor or the tentative pecks of Bobby - it’s soft but unyielding and damp but not wet. It’s how you think it should feel, being kissed. You imagine it’s how champagne feels, the fizz building up in you. It makes you want to get up on the seat, kneel closer, as close as possible, it makes you feel alive. Your eyes close and you’re lost in the sensations as you contemplate who it is you are kissing, and consider how he got so good at it. He’s a gentleman, not forcing anything into or on you, just going with what you’re signalling. It makes you squirm in your seat against him, tingles being sent from your chest to your stomach. He leaves you chasing him, breathing heavily still and leaning across the front seat, when he pulls back. He presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth before leaning back again. You sit like that for a few minutes, his arm still wrapped around you, leaning against his chest. You would have expected your mind to be racing, but strangely you’re calm, and can’t think of much beyond how much you enjoyed that, how much you can’t wait to do it again. After a little while he shifts you slightly, although his arm remains wrapped around yours and he wordlessly puts the car back into drive, coasting down to to pull up to your house. He gets out when you arrive, rushing around to open your door for you, and you pretend to be calm about it but inside you’re screaming, “Oh god, he kisses like that and he’s still such a gentleman - such a nice boy.” He presses a kiss to your cheek before sending you off to the front door,

“Next time I come through - I’ll come in baby, wanna see your little room, but for now I’ll call ya honey,” You nod, looking back at him sliding into the car again,

“You promise El?” He looks back at you through the open window, holding his fingers up in a scout salute,

“I swear it baby, I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

By the time you collapse into bed, your mind alight with the events of the evening, you still can’t quite believe it. You look around the room - trying to picture Elvis stood there, it’s difficult to picture him amongst your school awards still on the wall. Or laying on your bed - your stuffed animals dotted around. Still, you think as you snuggle down into your comforter, soon you won’t need to imagine - he’d promised you.

——

It’s just barely a week later, and you’re having a rare few days off from the diner while they were closed for renovations - a fact you were particularly happy about when you received a phone call from Elvis letting you know he was ten minutes away and asking if you were alone. You had of course immediately agreed, although afterwards panicked in having such little time to prepare, thankful that your mother had gone to visit her sister today while your father was at work.

You rush to open the door when you hear him knock, thankful that he’d rang ahead to warn you that he was passing by and that you’d had the small chance to tidy up a little, and freshen yourself up even if it was in a hurry. You couldn’t help but just stand there when you opened it, still in shock at seeing Elvis stood there on your doorstep - tight trousers and short sleeve blue shirt slightly open, looking like he’d just stepped off of a film set. He lets you gawp for a second, face filling with mirth before interjecting a moment later -

“Well…, aren’t ya gonna invite me in?” You stared, but nodded and you open the door all the way but before you can take a step back he was squeezing past you, apologising as he brushed against you as he walked in. You peer out of the door before you shut it tightly - trying to make sure no neighbours had been watching him come in, unaccompanied, into your house when they surely knew your parents would be out. When you turn around you catch him glancing around your entrance way, peering his head through the archways into the kitchen and living room and he nods approvingly,

“Nice little place you got here doll.” You smile, pleased that he approves but also slightly embarrassed at his qualifier - you know it’s small, nothing special, your parents never had much money to spare although you were always treated well.

“Oh well, I know it’s not like - like where you live but …” He interrupts you before you can go any further, shaking his head.

“Oh no, no, honey. You misunnerstand me - up til a couple’a years ago I’d dream about a lil house like this one - we never had much either.”

You smile back at his bashful expression. “Oh well, then. Glad you like it!” You do a little curtsey, and then immediately inwardly cringe. Why on earth did you just bob like that. He smiles at you, as if you’ve somehow just endeared yourself to him further but then glances up at the stairs,

“So, uh, you gonna show me your room?” He nods his head at the stairs and you giggle back at him, teasing him.

“My! How forward you are Mr Presley. Wanting to see a girl’s room before you’ve even taken her on a second date!” He winks at you, before taking the stairs two at a time, his forearms flexing as he grips the handrail. You’re not even wholly sure what is so attractive about it but you can’t resist simply watching the back of him, trousers and shirt tight on his skin, as he runs up.

“Yep! That’s me, now you gonna make me guess or you coming up too?” You laugh, following him up the stairs - suddenly nervous about its girlish decoration; you’re an adult (although admittedly, only just) but you take comfort in the familiarity of your childhood room, the same patch of stain from the nail varnish you spilt when you were thirteen, the marks on the doorjamb tracking your height, the familiar bed linen - a mismatched selection from all your major life stages, one pillowcase from a set when you were seven, another from when you were twelve, underneath your newest ‘grown-up’ set. The quilt your mother made you atop it all. You rush ahead of him to nervously lead him to the door and turn back to apologise about the childish decor only to flush, watching him inspect the wooden letters on your door - oh god, how embarrassing - you start to stutter out an explanation,

“Oh gosh, they’ve been there so long I forget they’re there - I don’t know why we even bothered with them, there’s only one of …” but your apologies falter on your lips as you watch him trace them almost reverently.

“I like ‘em baby - ’s cute, lets everyone know where you are. Could have found your door all on my own.” He turns his attention back to you and the room and you watch him take it all in. He glances over at your bookshelves, school books still stacked in them, and over at your bed with the little painted daisies on the wooden frame, the pile of teddy bears at the foot. He sneaks a peek over at your dresser and you follow his eyes where you see a scrap of white hanging half out of the drawer, your own eyes widen and you rush to close it with faux nonchalance from a knock with your hip.

He smirks watching you, but ignores it and you watch him go to take a closer look at your desk. You perch on the bed, waiting for him to have looked his fill and turn his attention from the room to you, but he’s distracted by something on your desk. He picks up a leaf of writing paper from where you’d left it out - to dry - your daddy won’t buy you the fancy paper with the designs already on it just to send to your friends who live right around the corner so you paint them on yourself; little trailing leaves and flowers on the borders. You freeze as he stares, examining your doodles with a little furrow in his brow - he can’t possibly remember.

“Say…doll, haven’t I received a letter like this?” Surely not. You had hoped when you’d sent it he would read them but you hadn’t really expected him to - fully assuming most fan letters would be tossed out pretty much as soon as they were received. You certainly never would have expected him to remember a letter that if you remember rightly yourself was sent over a year ago. You stutter out a response,

“Oh, oh, no, no. I think you must be mistaken, no, no I would nev-“ He interrupts you, completely ignoring your protestations.

“Yeah, yeah I remember, wasn’t it something like,” He puts on a high-pitched voice in an attempt at imitating you, “My mama won’t let me play your records anymore, says you’re a … what was it, a bad influence maybe?” He shrugs, “Seems to be most of the time anyway.” He laughs and then continues, gesturing with his hands, pacing in front of you “ ’S all coming back to me now, didn’t it go ‘but, when they leave I always put you back on the player, I just can’t help myself - your voice makes me feel things, I tingle.’ ”He returns to his normal voice again, “Weren’t it somethin’ like that?” You cringe away from his laughing eyes, you can only think to protest it but you know as soon as you open your mouth you’ll give it away but you try to do the best you can,

“Wow - I don’t think that was me, but do you really remember so many?” He laughs at your attempt, shaking his head.

“Yeah honey, I remember all the real cute ones doll. especially ones that say ‘sometimes I touch myself and think of you!’ Lord! What would your mama think of that!” You squirm, mortified.

“Oh no, no I really think you must be mistaken!” He smirks at you. Putting the sheet of paper back down - he stalks towards you and crowds you on the bed. You lean back and he follows, placing his body almost entirely over you, forcing you to lie almost completely back. You think he’s about to kiss you and your eyes fall shut in anticipation only to feel him move away a moment later - the pillow moving behind you causing your head to slip lower.

“Well - let’s see shall we?” You blink your eyes open and they immediately widen as you see what he’s holding - the diary from under your pillow. You sit up, reaching out for it.

“Oh no! Elvis! No - no, give it back!” He holds it above your head laughing as he pushes you back, keeping it out of your arms reach the whole time.

“Oh, no, no no.” He’s laughing at your struggles, “Gotta check my sources! See if you’re lyin’ to me little girl. One of these days you girls will find a different hiding place, gotta make the most of it.” He manages to grab hold of your wrist holding it across your body, catching the other between the two of you - pinning you against him - his chest on your back, and holding you with ease. He flicks the book open as you cringe against him. As if it couldn’t get any worse it immediately opens to a page addressed not, as you normally did, to ‘dear diary’ but to one of a few that you’d written ‘dear Elvis,’ across the top. You moan as you can feel the delight radiating off of him.

“Now then - looks like we won’t have to search very hard! Ooh hoo hoo!” he crows at you - “Oh my!” he fakes outrage, humming as he reads the page - you hope against hope it’s the one where you explain that you’d snuck out to see a film of his your mother had banned you from, and not a different particularly memorable entry.

“No way! Elvis - this ain’t funny no more! You gotta, gotta let go of me. Give me the damn book back!” He laughs at you,

“Now, now don’t you be getting too big for your britches little girl, I ain’t afraid to soap that mouth out.” He tickles your side and you giggle, although you feel a sudden surge of heat run through you, as you finally manage to break free. “No, no, where’dya think you’re going.” He sits on the bed patting his thigh and grabbing your wrist again pulling you around. “Back here on daddy’s knee, gonna read you a little story.” You squirm, but nonetheless sit where you’re told. You can’t deny, despite your mild embarrassment, that you’re enjoying yourself.

“Now it goes something like this - ‘Dear Elvis, Today was a rough day at school, Susie and Bryce started going steady and she told me she let him touch her in his car last night! Even though she knows I liked Bryce last year!’ I never will understand why girls get so caught up in liking someone who someone else once liked - why does it matter? Anyway, ‘I worry sometimes that I’ll never find someone who wants to go steady with me. I’m just not pretty enough, or tall enough. Or maybe it’s just because everyone knows I’m going to college.’”

You cringe at his reading out of your inane chatter, and you’re pleased when he hums and seems to be skipping along the page - hoping against hope he was growing bored. But you can feel his sudden smugness, and you just know that written on the page is not a story about you sneaking out to go and see Viva Las Vegas.

“Oooh, here’s where it gets good little, ‘This evening I went around to Natalie’s place - her parents were out, and she put on your new single, she was trying to convince me that the Beatles were so much better, but I think we’re just gonna have to disagree - they’re not even attractive.’ Well darling, at least I’ve got that going for me.” He laughs. “ ‘The thing is though, on the single there’s another song that I’ve heard before, but I don’t think I’d noticed the end - you make all these noises and I don’t really understand what happened but after I got home my panties were so damp through that I had to change them! Just from your voice!’ You start to squirm again, knowing what he’s about to read,

“Elvis - I really think, this is enough now - this is private, I don’t -” He just talks louder over you though,

“ ‘I’m still really wet, in fact, but that’s probably more to do with the fact that I couldn’t help but touch myself. Even though I heard the pastor say it’s a sin.’” His voice is dipping lower as he talks and his hand is brushing your upper thigh close to where you can feel the heat rising from within you, both from a hint of shame but mostly from arousal. His voice is deep and low in his chest and it hits you while you sit there that you’re on Elvis’ lap which makes you squirm all by itself.

He hushes you, “Shh, darling, not done yet, hold still.” And he holds you by his grip on your waist, fingertips gently stroking your side. You can feel his own heat burning against your leg, and you suddenly realise that’s his penis. A man’s cock growing against your own warm heat. You’re not as innocent as you were in that entry a year ago, but you’re not experienced yourself at all and pretty much all of your knowledge is secondhand from your girlfriend’s and their older sisters. You wriggle again, “Now, now let me finish.” He coughs dramatically, flicking the pages out as you whine.

“ ‘Sometimes I touch myself and I slip a finger in, I know I’m not supposed to but I just can’t help myself just thinking of you - of what you could do to me, god I’d do anything to be touched by you, just once.’ ” He skims the rest of the page, and softly closes the book, “Well baby, how does it feel to be touched by me?” His hands rub up your thighs and your eyes slip closed in pleasure as he watches your reaction, nudging them so far up that he’s almost brushing your panties. Your tummy flips, almost on the verge of being nauseous, as you try to catalogue the feelings. He removes his hands and you open your eyes catching your breath, but then he’s leaning back and pulling you down with him. He kisses you, in a way that you’ve never been kissed before, all tongue and teeth.

Then, he starts to kiss down your neck. You’ve never thought of any part of you as super sensitive but suddenly it feels like all your nerve endings are alight, feeling sparks as his lips trail down to your collarbone. You wiggle against him, feeling his large hand span across your back, fingertips pressing in as you push closer to where his leg has slipped between yours. Unable to stop yourself grinding against him a little bit. Your dress catches slightly and it means that for a brief moment the only thing between your warm wetness and his trouser leg are your thin cotton panties and you can feel the rough fabric rub against you, an involuntary moan escaping you.

“Baby, you gettin’ that feelin’ again?” You nod frantically, and he laughs - “Well,” he looks over at the alarm clock on your bedside table, “I don’t reckon we’ve got time to do anything about it now - not got time for you to finish - not before your parents get home.” You stare at him, blinking owlishly, you know, you know how babies are made, you’re not stupid, know that men can do things about it but -

“What…What do you mean? You can…do things about it? I can… finish?” He groans, his head falling back against the pillows.

“Oh!” He groans again, “Lord help me - yeah baby, yeah you can - can make you feel real good; you never? When you told me you touched yourself - it never felt… better?” You shake your head at him,

“I never got very far - didn’t have a clue what I should be doing and it made me awful hot and sweaty, and and it felt terribly tight and I wasn’t sure if I was meant to be and my parents are only the other side of this wall.” He moans so hard it’s almost a keen, swearing;

“Oh God. Oh goddamn. I swear, we haven’t got time now, really don’t have time but I’ll see you real soon, come back over when your mama and papa are home, gotta few things to discuss with them, then when I’ve got you all to myself I’ll teach you. Show you how you do it.” You immediately brighten up, forgetting your embarrassment in your excitement.

“Oh would you! I thought there must be something to it, but maybe it was just - just something some people did and some didn’t. ” You lean back down, catching his lips again. But then you pause suddenly, your insides twisting for a different reason, “Um, but Elvis, I don’t - don’t want you to get uh expectations or be dis’pointed, I’m not, not sure if I’m - I’m not sure I’m ready for, for sex. I’m not, not sure I wanna before, before I get hitched.” He looks in your eyes for a second before nodding,

“No darling, I know. Don’t you worry about it, that’s good, little one, you’re such a good girl for me - just gonna wait until the time is right huh, daddy’ll know when that is sweetheart, don’t you worry about that at all.” You can tell, looking straight into his eyes, that he’s being sincere and something in you relaxes. He pulls you back in for a slightly more chaste kiss, moving his thigh just enough to resettle the pressure and cause you to rut against him again. He lets you rub against him again for a moment before sitting up and pulling away.

“Now baby,” he starts with a plea in his voice, “how’s about you let me have a little somethin’ - just to …uh tide me over in the meanwhile?” You furrow your brow, unsure what you have to offer him,

“Well sure, maybe, I mean I don’t have -“ He jumps in before you can say anything else, interrupting you and talking fast like he’d been planning his moment on when to ask for this thing - like it was something he’d been thinking a while. Like a child sat on Santa’s knee, desperate to convey their desires.

“Could I have whatever it was peeking out of your drawer earlier?” You flush bright red from the chest up, surely he knows -

“Elvis! Those - those were my, my panties!” He grins wolfishly, mischievously at you,

“Well I know that doll, why’d you think I want ‘em?” You stand up to go and get them, although you still can’t imagine why on earth he’d want them.

“Here ya are - they’re not. Not special or nothing - but sure. I suppose.” He glows at you, and you’re still embarrassed but can’t help beaming back at him, watching him tuck them securely in his pant pocket. He stands up, looking over at the clock again.

“Really gotta go now honey,” You nod back at him a little sadly and start to head down the stairs with him. At the threshold to the front door he pushes a hand against it, preventing you from opening it for a moment and instead curls a hand around your waist, pulling you towards him again. You look up at him biting your lip a little, he pulls it from your mouth and keeps a hold of it with two fingers,

“You behave now ’til I see you again, alright baby?” He looks sternly at you, but his eyes are bright, playful, and although you can’t even imagine what he thinks counts as misbehaviour nor how on earth he would know anyhow but still you nod;

“Of course!” He leans down to you - far more chastely than before, just a simple press of his lips on yours.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” You nod again, and he leaves. You breath a sigh of relief as you close the door behind him, watching him hop into his, oh gosh, wow, totally inconspicuous, bright Cadillac all you can think is god, you can’t wait to put this in your diary.

——

The night you moved into Graceland was nerve-wracking. It had been scary enough to be introduced to his father, to his grandmother, but you were also terrified for other reasons. You knew that he hadn’t pressured you before but surely he’d want something in return for having you in his house. For keeping you. But you were wrong again. You’d gone to bed that night, anxiously peering at his ludicrously decorated bedroom when he’d led you in, and he’d tucked you in and pulled you into his arms with nothing more than a chaste kiss on the forehead. Since that first day, he touches you all the time, so physically affectionate that even though you knew it was genuine it felt like he was going out of his way for some reason. Just so that he might brush against you, or have to place his hands on your waist and move you. Anywhere you were sat, he or you would be practically on top of the other, his hand on your thigh or your hand being placed on his. He holds you, all night long, and it’s only the second night when you anxiously kiss him, desperate to at least make-out like you had been doing back home. He allows it, but pushes you away when you reach for anything further, tucking your hands into one of his and pulling you close, lulling you to sleep with your head close to his heartbeat.

The end of that first week was memorable for several reasons. The first, and the cause for the rest of them, was that he’d thrown the first party since you’d been at Graceland. You’d enjoyed yourself immensely - getting dressed up with him - he’d even helped you with your makeup, steady hand tracing your eyeliner. And the night itself had been magical, stuck by his side as he effectively showed you off - dancing together and meeting his friends. He’d been roped into singing and his clear enjoyment of the night had only increased your own. The second reason you found it memorable was that before the party you’d opened the wardrobe in your room and discovered an entire rail of new dresses, all perfectly sized to your exact measurements and style. The third was Elvis slightly tipsy (despite him not allowing you to have more than a sip) or perhaps just high off a good night, clutching you to him, your back to his chest and whispering in your ear;

“You just gotta, gotta say no if you don’t wanna, darling. Not gonna push you - ‘m not like that I promise.” He punctuated his point with a hand rubbing over your stomach, gently, soothingly. You’d stilled at his words, and he’d followed it up with, “Wanna…go upstairs? Let me teach you a few things?” You’d paused in your turning around, and he’d moved his head closer to yours, his lips practically touching your ears. He’d kissed the patch of skin just below as he’d continued; “Be my good girl? Let me show you how?” He’d brushed his other hand down your arm, gently, and you’d been pulling away and up the stairs before he could say goodnight to the others.

Which took you to now, stood in the middle of the bedroom, uncertain really as to what you should be doing. Should you get undressed? Take off your shoes at least? A moment later he’s entering himself, and shuts the door behind himself before striding over to you, capturing your mouth with his. His hands brush against you, but seem to gently hover, and it’s not until you make a little whine does he press them against you, holding you close with a hand on your back, the other coming to cup your cheek and chin. His tongue slips into yours, and you moan as you come up onto your tiptoes, desperate to stay as close to him as possible. He bends further, kissing your cheek and down your neck, sucking down when he reaches your exposed collarbone. You lean into him even further and he wraps both arms around your middle lifting you up, and carrying you over to the bed, even as his head was still buried in the crook of your neck. You can feel the skin rising, burning and stinging as he bites down, leaving a purple bruise where he had been, feel his soft, gentle tongue lapping at it and easing the sting as you let out tiny noises of pain and pleasure.

He puts you down, laying you back, and one of his hands comes around to your waist, stroking across your stomach. It feels like his fingers are burning through your dress, and his fingers - though slender and delicate when you see them on a steering wheel or holding one of his cigarillos, feel huge and heavy as they span your tummy. He kisses you again and you arch into him, and when he pulls back his lips are wet and redder than usual, plump and pillowy soft. Yours feel bitten and sore, tender in the best way. He sits up, pulling his hand out from underneath you, and you gaze up at him. He groans as he looks back at you,

“Oh lord, sweetheart, don’t look at me like that.” You raise onto your elbows,

“Like what?” He doesn’t reply, but looks away and takes a breath, when he turns back to you his eyes are bright with playfulness.

“Right, dolly, time to let daddy play with you,” You don’t know why that flips your tummy, if it’s his use of ‘daddy’ in this context, or ‘play’ or even him calling you not just a doll, but a dolly. But it does. He pulls you up, and turns you, deft fingers unbuttoning the back of your dress’ bodice as he does so, leaning down to press precious little kisses - no more than gentle touches of his lips - down your back when he exposes each tiny sliver of skin. He reaches the skirt, unhooking the button and lowering the zip at the waistband, allowing it to fall open and he eases the little straps off your shoulders. The dress falls to the floor, and you step out of it, you’re immediately self-conscious stood there in just your slip, in its almost sheer silkiness, but its not long before he’s hooking his fingers into the hem, and pulling it up and over your head. He stares for a moment, at you stand there in just your soft cotton bra and panties and you wrap an arm around your middle. He frowns,

“Don’t, don’t hide from me. Just let me look at you.” You blink at him, lowering your arm although a blush rises up from your chest.

“ ’S emnbarassin’ E,” He shakes his head at you, tsking as he does.

“Nothing embarrassing about it baby, letting your daddy look at you like such a good girl.” He glances at your panties, staring for long enough that you shift a little, “I love white, you got more like that? Or do I hafta go out and buy you some more?” You wonder what’s going to happen to these, but you know that the majority of your underwear drawer looks the same.

“No, no, they’re… most of ‘em are like this,” He groans, and has seemingly reached his limit for keeping his hands off of you, moving to touch your hips and run his fingers over your newly bared skin. Goosebumps break out as he touches you and you shiver at the contact. He pats your stomach, before running his hand down to the top of your waistband. He runs his fingers over it, gently, feeling where the fabric rests atop your soft springy curls, and then steps back again. He goes to strip off himself, having discarded his jacket somewhere downstairs - untucking his shirt and pulling it off. As his chest is revealed you can feel your face flaming again - as if it wasn’t already seriously red. He laughs when he looks over at you,

“God baby, you can’t have any blood left in your body - ’sall in your little pink cheeks.”

He throws the shirt to the chair in the corner of the room. He pushes his trousers down, confidently stepping out, he doesn’t kick them aside like you expected a boy might, instead bending, giving you a perfect view of his naked backside, to pick them up, folding them in half and slinging them over the same chair as his shirt. You feel free to ogle at him, considering he had done the same mere minutes before and you’re stuck wondering how people go about the day knowing this is what people looked like under their clothes. You never believed it would be something that you would find especially attractive, you knew men commented on women and girl’s behinds but you never thought it happened in reverse, didn’t think you’d suddenly be overcome with the urge to sink your teeth into the soft flesh there.

When he turns around you can’t help but stare straight at his crotch. You’d seen one before, in your biology textbook and once in a magazine that Natalie’s brother had stolen from their father that you’d all crowded around and giggled at, although not for very long before you’d had to quickly replace it as you heard his father’s car on the driveway. But never had you seen one in real life. You’d felt one, through a boy’s pants as you’d sat on his lap at the diner, you’d felt Elvis’ in fact in much the same way, but even when he’d gently stroked you over your panties you’d never gone so far to touch him unclothed, or even through a fabric layer. You didn’t really know what to expect. But his cock was rosy and already stood a little to attention, where it didn’t seem nearly as intimidating as you’d always expected them to be. Somehow, even without having anything to compare it to you could just tell it was a pretty. You immediately reach out a curious hand, and as he steps towards you, looking amused, you wish you could stop the words tumbling out of your mouth;

“Gosh - I’ve uh, I’ve never seen one in real life….” You try to stem your burning curiosity but you can’t stop yourself “What’s it feel like? Can I, can I touch it?” You pause, remembering your manners, “Please?” He nods laughing and gets himself within reaching distance of you. He places his hand over yours, gently gripping them together, his palm on the top of your hand and guides it towards him. You’re surprised at how smooth it feels, you don’t know why, you didn’t expect it to feel so soft although it’s also a little wrinkly almost and you’re slightly surprised because he seems to have more skin there than the guy in the magazine - it encases just below the head of his cock which is now popping out of the little folds. He lets go and your hand just rests there for a moment, before you squeeze a little, releasing and running your fingers gently over it.

““El, that’s, it’s so soft.” He laughs at you, pupils dilating as he looks at your fingers dancing over him.

“Not for much longer doll,” and he guides your fingers back to him.

“That’s it baby, nice and gentle,” You continue to stroke him, briefly, before he’s putting his hand back down, pulling yours off, “Just need, sorry baby, I know this is dirty, but just need, a lil help here. You gonna wrap your hand around me?” You nod, confused as to why he’s turning your palm up, “Ok, honey, I just need a little, needs ta be a little wetter.” He looks you in the eyes, almost like he’s asking permission, for what though you don’t know - but clearly whatever he was looking for he found because he’s pulling your hand closer to his face. You’re stunned, mouth open, when he brings it to his mouth and licks it, a damp wet stripe being left, before pulling back and spitting straight into it. You recoil a little, but your thighs clench as your core jolts. You blink at him, still shocked, as he pulls you back to his cock, wrapping your now wet hand around him again.

“Ok baby, that’s it, that it’s not too tight now baby, that’s it - oh, just there,” When you brush a thumb over the end of him he moans, so you do it again, and stroke just behind it. “Just a little tighter - oh lord - just make that yittle fist a little tighter darling, up and down now, oh that’s it.” You follow his instructions, and his hips jerk a little in response, you can see his stomach muscles under his soft layer of gentle fat clenching and tightening in pleasure. “God, what a clever girl you are. Learnin’ so fast.” You continue for a moment, until his cock is fully to attention, practically bobbing against his stomach.

“You wanna, wanna say a proper hello to him? Gonna give him a little hello kiss? Go on baby, he’s waiting for you - say hello to little Elvis. He’s so excited to meet you.” And admittedly little Elvis bobs as if he’d overhead the conversation, and from the leaking from the tip he does look excited to meet you. So you obediently bend over to press a little kiss to his rosy pink head. He lets out a little groan, that seemed almost involuntary and he apologises as he pushes you onto your knees in front of him,

“Not really right to do this to a girl - but uh, I suppose, if you’re my dolly, then… it’s fine right?” You don’t have any experience in what you’re about to do, but you’re not so sheltered that you don’t have any semblance of understanding of the act - and you have nothing against it, so you nod again, once again stunned momentarily silent by his surprising actions. You look up at him, from between his slightly spread legs - peering up at his tight chest and nipples, to his smooth, visible, neck to where his blue eyes are practically burning a hole into you. You swallow before trying to find your voice again;

“It’s more than fine,” You pause for a moment before considering what he’d said earlier, “daddy.” He moans, his leg jiggling a little, and you watch as little Elvis twitches in response.

“So you’re gonna be a good little girl now, right? Do as I tell you?” You nod, he exhales, slowly before starting to instruct you.“You can start by taking just the very end into your mouth, just hold it there for a second.” You do as he says, leaning forward with your mouth, and he sucks a breath in, loudly, as you brush your lips against his tip. You go to move down a little more, and he stops you with hand on your head, “Just, just give me a second, honey, gods, you feel so fucking good.” You still - “If you wanna, you can just, just reach down below, darling, gotta treat all of me nice - just - that’s it baby, nice and gentle with them little fingers.” He praises you as you reach around to fondle at his balls for the first time. He pushes a little further into your mouth, before pulling out most of the way - telling you now,

“Need you to just, just lick me a little baby, no, no - keep it in your mouth, just move your tongue around a bit, oh lord, that’s it right there baby,” He makes a high-pitched whine that you can feel rush through your body from where you’re connected. He puts his other hand around to poke at your cheeks, “Look up at me, that’s it.” He moves his hand to pull yours from his thigh and wraps it around the base of his cock. “Go on, what you can’t get in your mouth you can keep touching.” A moment passes, and he’s telling you, “ Ok hollow your cheeks little one, gonna suck me in, then you’re gonna just relax and let me, let me just fuck that throat and mouth of yours.” You follow his instructions, and he grasps the back of your head to keep you bobbing on him at the exact pace he wants.

“Now, now baby, since its your first time, you haven’t, haven’t gotta swallow it if you don’t wanna - but you may as well have a little taste - don’t want, don’t want it going anywhere but down your little throat in future.” He holds your neck, keeping you in place, as he thrusts into you - practically into your throat although he’s careful not to go too deep, but you still struggle to breathe a little. He grows slightly more erratic as he chases his pleasure and you’re glad when he pulls back so that just the head is still in your mouth, letting you take a deeper breath in.

When he shouts, “Oh god, that’s a good baby, fuck, fuck doll, I’m cumming baby,” you’re able to just have the tip in your mouth - which makes it easier to hold his cum without choking on it. You taste a little before pulling back, holding it in your mouth, your tongue recoiling from the texture. He hands you a handkerchief, embroidered with E.P on the corner, telling you slightly huffily, “Ok, that’s it, just spit it out there.” You do, embarrassed at the unladylike behaviour, and he takes it from you looking at it with distaste as he balls it up and flings it in the direction of the ensuite.

He looks down at you, “You did so good baby, such a quick learner aren’t you! So good!” You can’t help but squirm, your own arousal peaking with the butterflies in your belly again, pleased with yourself, but then slightly worried when he strokes your cheek, expression not as soft as before before starting to haul you up from your knees. Barely giving you time to stand before pushing you backwards onto his bed. “But next time, honey, I’m not havin’ you spit it out whenever wherever ok? So you’re just gonna have to learn to take what I give you.” You’re wide-eyed looking at him, you’re not entirely sure that’s something you want, but he does know best, and you’re desperate to please him so all you can do is nod and agree.

“Uh-huh, of course, just - just gotta get used to it I guess daddy,” He hums back at you, pushing you to lie flat on your back.

“Mmhmm. Ri-ght, ok, baby, your turn now, just lie back and let daddy take care of you.” He pauses, as if remembering something - “Daddy’s gonna get serious now, give you a real introduction - make you finish.” He smooths his hands down the sides of your chest and stomach, goosebumps forming as his fingertips trail down, until he reaches your thighs, where he pulls them up, so your knees are bent and your legs spread. He bends down, holding your thighs down and open, to press a kiss to the fabric separating his mouth and your body. He, laps at it, sucking at the material - the wet spot that was already there growing larger as he adds his damp spit. You wriggle about but he keeps you in place with one hand on a thigh, holding you open, and the other on your stomach, a solid weight pinning you in place. Your panties have gone practically see through by the time he leans back, looks down, and hooks two fingers into the waistband, pulling them down and off of your thighs. He looks at them for a moment, at the combination of his spit and your sticky wetness coating the other side before throwing them also in the direction of the chair.

“They’re mine now too baby.” You shake your head at him - you’ll have no underwear left at this rate.

“Elvis. You’ve already had a pair. I don’t know what you want them for anyway! Told you that last time!”

“You’re mine aren’t you?” You nod, you’ve been moved into his house haven’t you? How much more obvious do you need to be? “Well then, they’re mine too.” You gape at him, you can’t really deny his slightly misguided logic - not without setting yourself up for failure. You go to protest again, but he hushes you, “Stop arguin’ with me, little girl, not gonna get you nowhere.” He pushes your thighs back apart, “I ain’t gonna start something I can’t finish,” and your final protest dies on your lips when he presses a kiss against your mound. He moves his lips down, gently placing another kiss at the top of your vulva.

He licks a stripe down you, opening you up with his tongue, you can feel a gush of wetness at the act, and it seems that he could as well as you feel him smile against you before spearing his tongue a little way into you. He strokes your inner thighs, tickling the little fold where your legs meet your body. You shift to be able to look down at him. He’s been running his hands through his hair too much while you’d been getting him off that it’s no longer slicked up and back, but fluffy and gentle as you move your own hands to clutch at him. You pull gently, and he leans back just enough to look up at you through his dark, eyelashes at you. The sight makes you clench, and when your head goes backwards again, after he moves a finger to swirl around your clit, moving ever closer to the exact spot, you suddenly catch sight of the back of his head in the mirror on the wall opposite. You let out a noise you’d never heard yourself make before and you can’t take your eyes off of him. From the angle, you can’t see much below his shoulders - but it’s enough to send you, along with the physical stimulation, teetering towards the edge. When he finally, moves his finger to touch you directly your hips thrust up of their own accord, and you grind down on him when your body returns to the bed. His lips return to you, and he laughs as he reaches up to blindly pat at your face, he pulls back laughing - “Your lips cold baby? Or my hand hot?” You stutter out a response, really not certain of the relevance of the question,

“I, I don’t know! But can you, Elvis I’m so close, daddy please.” He shakes his head smiling and returns to your pussy with renewed vigour - firmly licking you out and playing with you. You can’t think of anything but the sensations, of how slippery you are, of how wet and soft while simultaneously gently rough his tongue is. He shies away from slipping a finger in, simply teasing around your entrance - although this reticence isn’t shared with his tongue which continues to fuck into you at a rapid pace.

You squirm, feeling suddenly desperate - although for what you didn’t know. He holds you right at the precipice for a moment, and you thrash, tense, until he resumes the exact same licking pattern as before, rubbing at your clit as he does and its like you’ve been released, shuddering and shouting out his name;

“Oh god - Elvis, daddy, that’s - unnh-” Your words cut off into non-verbal noises, huffing out quick breaths and moans as your body quivers. He finally pulls away after you’ve gone stiff in the bed, letting your body relax back from its arched position as you struggle to catch your breath. He runs his fingers over your folds, “God you’re so wet baby,” you squirm, feeling it cool into a thin stickiness on your thighs. He kisses your thigh, spreading the wetness from his lips, whispering - “Such a good girl for me baby - you like that? Your first one?” You can’t do much more than nod in response as you tremble lying there but you manage to murmur out,

“Yes, god, yes I liked it.” He hums at you,

“Well go on then baby, say thank you to daddy. Don’t forget your manners now.” You gasp, heat flooding you again although you’re too tired to want to do anything about it.

“…Tha-Thank you daddy.” He kisses the top of your mound in response and pats at you one last time, before he heaves himself up and leaves. When he comes back he’s dressed in a set of black silk satin pyjamas, carrying a little nightgown for you. He dresses you like you were the dolly he described before, manhandling you into the nightie. He rolls you off of the comforter, allowing him to pull the covers out so that he can clamber in underneath, cuddling you into him. He cocoons you in his arms, clutching at you, and you suddenly feel safe and secure after abruptly feeling unmoored. A tear slips out, for reasons that you’re not quite sure of, and he tuts, holding your head to his chest. It’s not long before you, listening to his steady heartbeat, fall fast sleep.

#empty promises #be-my-ally #elvis smut #elvis Presley smut #elvis fic #elvis x reader #elvis x you #elvis presley x you #elvis presley fanfiction

202 notes · View notes