Honey, say please.
Elvis Presley x Reader | 1973 | Smut | Reader’s POV | Graceland Bedroom
WN: Begging, overstimulation, fingering, praise + light degradation, dom/sub dynamic, dirty talk, TCB chain action, Elvis’s voice weaponized.
N/A: Helloooo! It’s been a while since I don’t post a proper fan-fiction. Well, life has been crazy lately but I’ll try to be more active in here!
The bedroom’s dark.
Golden lamplight kisses your bare thighs as you sit up on your elbows, watching him from the bed like you’re trying not to squirm.
He’s standing at the foot of the mattress — shirt off, rings on, black silk pants unzipped just enough to tease. The TCB chain rests against his chest, swaying ever so slightly with the slow rise and fall of his breath.
“You wanna come?” Elvis asks, voice low, a sinful drawl that melts down your spine.
You nod, eyes wide, lips parted.
He tsks, slow and soft, one brow lifting.
“Nuh-uh. Not good enough, baby. If you want me to touch you again…”
His palm wraps slowly around his cock, stroking it once. Twice. Watching your eyes follow every move.
“…you’re gonna have to say please.”
Your breath catches. You squirm. He smirks.
“You were loud as hell last night,” he murmurs, stepping closer, “cryin’ on this dick like you were born for it. Now you can’t even beg like a good girl?”
“Elvis,” you whisper, thighs pressing together.
He climbs onto the bed like a panther — slow, controlled, hungry.
You fall back on the pillows, gasping when he grabs your ankles and spreads you open with a single motion.
You’re soaked. You know it. He sees it.
His smile turns dark.
“Ohh, look at that. Drippin’ and I ain’t even touched you yet. Damn, honey.”
He settles between your legs — hot breath against your core — but doesn’t touch. Just hovers. Teases.
Then his fingers slide up your inner thighs, stopping just shy of where you need him most.
“Last chance,” he whispers, lips brushing your skin. “Say it for me.”
You whimper. It burns.
“Please, Daddy.”
He freezes.
“…Say it again.”
“Please,” you moan. “Please, Daddy, I need it, I need you—”
He groans like he’s starving and sinks two fingers into you, deep and slow.
You arch off the bed with a cry, but he holds you down with one hand, the TCB chain brushing against your belly every time he moves.
“Good girl,” he growls. “That’s all I wanted. Ain’t so hard, is it?”
His fingers work faster, curling up inside you like he knows exactly where heaven is. The sound of it — wet and obscene — fills the room.
You’re a mess in seconds.
“I wanna come,” you cry, grinding into his palm.
He leans in, pressing his lips just below your ear.
“Then say it again, baby. Louder.”
“Please!”
He laughs — dark and satisfied — before kissing you like he owns your mouth, your body, your whole damn soul.
And you fall apart.
Again. And again.
Until your voice is gone and his chain is slick with sweat and your legs are trembling from the way he whispers, “Say please” every single time.
⸻
You’re still twitching beneath him when he pulls his fingers out — slow, slick, like he loves how ruined you are.
“Pretty little mess, aren’t you?” he murmurs, licking you off his fingers, his voice thick with want. “Didn’t even fuck you yet and you’re already beggin’.”
⸻
You’re breathless, eyes hazy, lips parted. “Elvis, please…”
He leans over you, one hand braced above your head, the other slipping beneath your thigh, pulling it up around his waist. His cock is heavy, hard, and pressed right against your entrance — but he doesn’t push in yet.
Not until you look him in the eye.
Not until you mean it.
“You ready to behave?” he asks, cock head teasing your slit, slicking himself with your arousal. “Or do I gotta teach you all over again?”
“Please,” you whisper, lifting your hips in desperation. “I’ll be good, I swear—”
“Say it louder.”
“Please, Daddy, fuck me.”
His eyes flash.
Then he’s inside you.
A slow, brutal thrust, dragging out the stretch until your mouth falls open and you cry out his name — raw, broken, real.
He fills you deep, holds still for a moment, letting you feel every inch. The weight of him. The chain swinging gently between your bodies, cool against your skin.
You can’t even breathe.
Then he starts to move.
Rough, controlled thrusts that shake the headboard against the wall — slow enough to be cruel, deep enough to feel like possession.
“That what you wanted, baby?” he pants, jaw clenched. “Wanted Daddy to fuck it into you?”
You nod — eyes glossy, hands scrambling at the sheets.
He grabs your wrists, pins them above your head with one hand, the chain glinting under the lamplight.
“Ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he growls. “You stay right there and take it.”
He fucks you harder. His hips smack yours with filthy, rhythmic slaps. Your name falls from his lips in a low, reverent moan as he leans down and bites your shoulder.
“Goddamn, sugar,” he pants. “You feel too good. Too fuckin’ good—might never let you go.”
You’re gasping, whimpering, so close it hurts.
“Come on, baby,” he whispers into your neck. “Come for Daddy again. Give it to me.”
Your body obeys. Shaking, sobbing, breaking.
And as you fall apart beneath him, he lets go too — with a groan so deep, so raw, it vibrates through your bones.
He spills inside you in slow, deep thrusts, his hips stuttering as he presses his forehead to yours.
The chain swings once… twice… before going still.
And when the only sound left in the room is your breathing, tangled together, his voice comes quiet and warm against your cheek:
“Next time you wanna be stubborn, baby… remember this.”
He kisses your mouth like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.
“Say please,” he whispers, “and I’ll give you the whole damn world.”
Tags 🏷️: @jhoneybees @i-r-i-n-a-a @gyratingpresley @kxnnxy @iloveelvisss @buglass @rjmartin11 @atleastpleasetelephone
