70s!Dom!elvis x Bratty! Black! Reader
tw: heavy smut ahead — rough dom!elvis, bratty reader, spanking, light bondage, overstimulation, mirror play, daddy vibes, a lil crying, and then super soft aftercare. if any of that isn’t your vibe, skip this one babes 💋
You stood at the foot of the bed in nothing but one of his shirts—half-buttoned, no bra—playing innocent while your eyes sparked with challenge.
“Somethin’ wrong, baby?” you asked sweetly, tilting your head. “You look tense.”
Elvis didn’t even look up from his chair where he was thumbing through a stack of sheet music. Calm. Still. Dangerous.
“You been runnin’ that smart little mouth all damn day, sugar,” he said low, his Memphis drawl syrupy and slow. “I let it slide at breakfast. Let it slide when you rolled your eyes at me in front of the boys. But now you’re standin’ here half-naked, actin’ like you don’t know what you’re doin’. You beggin’ for attention, or just beggin’ for trouble?”
You smirked, shifting your weight. “Maybe I’m bored.”
He finally looked up, his blue eyes narrowing. The heat behind them made your stomach twist.
“Well, now,” he murmured, rising from his chair in one fluid, lazy motion. “That’s the first honest thing you’ve said all damn day.”
You barely had time to move before he was on you—his hand sliding around the back of your neck, pulling you in close. His lips brushed your ear.
“You wanna act like a brat, you better be ready for how Daddy handles brats,” he whispered, voice dark, dangerous, but still wrapped in velvet. “You think I won’t put you over my knee and make you cry my name like a prayer?”
“That’s more like it. I don’t play games, baby. You wanna mouth off? Push my buttons? Then I’ll show you exactly where that leads. You wanted attention? Now you got it.”
He walked you back toward the bed with slow, deliberate steps, never breaking eye contact. His voice dropped low again, silk wrapped around steel.
“Now get up on your knees, hands on the headboard. You so damn desperate to act out, I’m gonna make sure you remember who you belong to.”
And you did. Every word, every shiver, every breathless second.
You climbed onto the bed just like he told you—slow, spine tingling, every nerve lit up under his gaze. You could feel his eyes on you, heavy as his breath, dragging over every inch of skin exposed under his shirt.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “For once.”
The mattress dipped under his weight as he climbed behind you. His hands ran up your thighs, firm and slow, spreading you just enough to make you feel seen. Controlled. Owned.
“You like testin’ me, huh?” he muttered as his fingers slid up higher, gripping your hips. “Mouthing off, wearin’ my shirt like a little tease, thinkin’ you can wind me up and not pay for it.”
You let out a soft moan when his hand cracked against your bare cheek. Not hard—but enough to sting. Enough to make your legs tremble.
“Nuh-uh. Don’t whine now, baby,” he growled. “You wanted my attention. Now you’re gonna take it.”
He gripped your hair and pulled you up, your back arching against him. His lips brushed your ear, hot and heavy.
“I should make you say please. But you’d just act up again tomorrow, wouldn’t you?”
You bit your lip. Didn’t answer.
He chuckled darkly. “Thought so.”
With one hand, he held you against him, his hips pressing against your backside, hard and deliberate. With the other, he slid his fingers down, slow and possessive—finding just how soaked you already were.
“Jesus, baby… You’re drippin’. All that attitude just a cover for how bad you want me, huh?”
That earned another smack—sharper this time, but laced with the drag of his palm soothing the burn right after.
You gasped when his fingers slid inside you, deep and slow. Taunting. Controlled. His other hand gripped your throat, not choking—but firm enough to make you stay. Stay in place. Stay still. Stay his.
“That little mouth gets you in trouble,” he breathed. “But this right here… This part of you? She tells the truth. She knows who you belong to.”
He pulled his fingers out and brought them to your lips.
You obeyed, eyes locked on his, your bratty attitude long gone—replaced by pure need, pure heat, pure surrender.
“That’s it, baby,” he said, sliding inside you with one long, punishing thrust. “Now take it.”
And you did. Every inch. Every command. Every dirty, worship-soaked second of it.
Because no matter how mouthy you got…
You lived for the way he put you in your place.
“Look at you,” he growled against your neck, voice ragged with heat. “So damn cocky earlier, now you’re cryin’ into my sheets.”
You gasped when his hand snaked around to rub your clit, slow circles that made your knees shake.
He laughed darkly, thrusting into you hard enough to make the headboard slam against the wall.
“I ain’t even started bein’ mean, baby. This is what you get when you act like a damn brat.”
His hips didn’t stop. That rhythm—deep, punishing, possessive—hit every sweet, aching spot. Your nails clawed at the sheets, desperate to hold on.
“But you love it, don’t you?” he muttered, lips brushing your ear. “You need it rough. Need me to tear you apart and put you back together.”
He leaned over you, chest to your back, breath hot on your neck.
You whimpered, eyes fluttering shut.
“I need it,” you gasped. “I need you—just like this.”
He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head with one strong hand, keeping you helpless as he drove into you faster, harder, deeper.
“Your body’s honest even when your mouth ain’t,” he rasped. “She knows who she belongs to. Don’t she, baby?”
You choked on a moan. “Yes, Daddy…”
He let out a low groan, his rhythm faltering as he pulled out suddenly and flipped you onto your back like you weighed nothing.
“I wanna see that bratty little face when I make you come,” he hissed, spreading your legs wide, dragging the tip along your dripping center. “Wanna watch you fall apart on my cock.”
You arched into him, your body already trembling. He slid back inside with a growl, stretching you open until all you could do was sob his name.
“Uh-huh. There she is. That’s my girl. Not so mouthy now, huh?”
He held your jaw, making you look up at him.
“You’ll remember this next time you roll those eyes at me. Next time you pout and sass me like you’re not beggin’ for this deep down.”
You nodded desperately, tears of pleasure streaking down your cheeks. You were so close it hurt.
“I’m gonna come—Elvis, please—”
“You ask permission,” he snapped, slowing just enough to keep you teetering.
“Please, Daddy, please let me come—!”
“That’s what I like to hear,” he growled. “Go on then. Come for me, baby. Make a mess.”
It ripped through you like lightning—back arched, thighs shaking, a cry of his name strangled in your throat as you shattered beneath him.
Not even when you begged.
Not even when your body gave in a second time—overstimulated, ruined, completely undone.
Because he wasn’t just f**king you.
You were still trembling when he came back from the drawer—box in hand, sweat slick on his chest, eyes dark like sin.
“What’s in there?” you mumbled, breathless, limp across the bed.
He set it down with a thud.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said with a slow grin. “You said you wanted a surprise.”
You tried to crawl back, instincts screaming—but he caught your ankle with one hand and dragged you back under him.
“Uh-uh. No runnin’. Not after all that mouth earlier. You wanted Daddy to lose control, didn’t you?”
Your eyes widened when he pulled out the silk rope.
“Don’t you ‘Elvis’ me now,” he growled, voice low and dangerous. “You earned every second of this.”
He flipped you onto your stomach and began tying your wrists to the headboard with skillful ease, leaving your back arched, legs trembling.
You were on display—helpless, soaking, still flushed from your last orgasm.
There was a mirror above the bed. One of his little renovations. And now? You were staring up at your reflection—messy, bound, wrecked.
He climbed back behind you, dragging the tip of a vibrator down your spine.
“See what I see, baby?” he purred in your ear. “See how good you look ruined for me?”
The toy pressed against your clit while he slid back inside you, deep and unforgiving. The overstimulation made your thighs shake instantly, your cries echoing off the walls.
“That’s it, cry for me,” he growled. “Let ‘em hear you from downstairs. Let ‘em all know who makes you feel like this.”
He thrust harder, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip tight enough to bruise.
The mirror above reflected everything—his wild eyes, your twisted sheets, the way your body obeyed him even when it couldn’t take any more.
You sobbed, begging—nonsense words, broken pleas.
Not when your legs collapsed.
Not even when your voice gave out.
He was gonna make sure you never forgot it.
You collapsed against the sheets, breath stuttering, mind buzzing.
Your legs were still shaky, wrists tingling where the rope had held you, your whole body humming and tender.
The wild fire in him softened the minute he saw you melt.
He brushed your hair back with both hands, thumbs stroking your cheeks as he leaned in close.
“Hey… hey, look at me, baby,” he whispered, voice warm and low. “You with me?”
Your eyes fluttered open, and he smiled—so gentle, so full of something that made your chest ache.
“There she is,” he murmured, kissing your forehead. “My sweet girl.”
He untied you slowly, carefully, like you were something precious. Every knot undone with a kiss to your wrist, a warm breath across your skin, a whispered “you did so good for me.”
When he finally pulled you into his chest, you sank into him instinctively, face pressed against the warm skin of his shoulder. His arms wrapped around you strong and steady—protective, grounding.
“Shh… I got you,” he whispered, rocking you just a little. “You’re okay, baby. I’m right here.”
His fingers traced slow circles up and down your spine, easing out the leftover trembles.
Every touch was soft. Reverent.
The same hands that had held you down like you belonged to him were now touching you like you were something breakable.
He kissed the top of your head, then your temple, then your jaw—tiny kisses, feather-light.
“You gave me everything,” he whispered against your skin. “So damn proud of you.”
You let out a small, exhausted sound, and he pulled the blanket over both of you, tucking you close.
“Breathe with me, darlin’,” he murmured, guiding your inhale with the rise of his chest. “Nice and slow. That’s it… easy now.”
One of his hands slid up to cradle the back of your head, holding you against the warm curve of his neck.
“You’re safe,” he whispered. “You hear me? Safe with me. Always.”
You nudged closer, and he chuckled softly, kissing your cheek.
“Mm, that’s my girl… Come here.”
He cupped your face gently and pressed your lips together—slow, lingering, tender. Not hungry. Not wild. Just soft.
A reminder that he loved every side of you—the bratty, the needy, the undone.
He nuzzled your nose, smiling.
“Didn’t mean to wear you out that much,” he teased lightly. “You alright?”
You nodded into his chest, and he held you tighter, burying his face in your hair.
“Good,” he whispered. “Rest right here, baby. I’ll stay with you. Ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
He stayed there with you—warm, gentle, humming low under his breath while you drifted off, wrapped in his arms
Tags 🏷️: @jhoneybees @i-r-i-n-a-a @gyratingpresley y @kxnnxy @iloveelvisss @buglass @rjmartin11 @atleastpleasetelephone
