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missmaywemeetagain · 3 months

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Got a Lotta Lovin' to Do (A Scarf Universe Story) ❤️‍🔥

Okay, sooooo...this just came to me in a strange fit of inspiration this week. It's naughty but also a little sweet in concept. It may not be for everyone, so let's say it's currently canon adjacent for the Pink Scarf Universe...

This takes place a few months post A Pink Scarf Thanksgiving, in February of 1978. Yes, I know, we make it to '78 and there is something both heart wrenching but also wonderful in that, isn't there?

I wanted something that felt real but also a bit indulgent, and also wanted to bring our spitfire Sandy back into play. In fact, I made it from Sandy's perspective, which was a bit challenging considering the use of second person, but hopefully it makes sense!!

Premise is that Reader is in a fix, desperate to coax a very nervous Elvis back into her bed, and enlists her best friend Sandy to help in an unorthodox way.

Anyway, I'm a bit nervous about this one 😬 and am just sort of testing the waters as a preview, so let me know if you like it and want me to continue it! (Also, the turnaround was fast, so please excuse the semi-rough edit/revision! 🙏🏼)

xoxoxox, Madi 💗

(listen, I know this pic is much earlier than '78, but the vibe is right and the hint of silver at his roots seems applicable and has me in a chokehold, so bear with me here...)

TW: sexy smutty stuff, heading towards a threesome (mff/fmf), mention of medical issues/trauma, sassy Sandy, silver fox Elvis!!🦊

Got a Lotta Lovin’ to Do

February 1978

“Darlin’, you sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’?” he asks you. Elvis’ eyebrow is halfway to his hairline and he sounds more incredulous than hopeful, but Sandy can see the twinkle in his eyes when they slide over to her. It’s more than a cursory glance, one filled with questions and a latent heat. She wrestles with the urge to fidget under his gaze, clenching and unclenching her fists instead of looking away from his scrutiny.

She’s certainly never been one to back down from a fight, not even with the enigma that is Elvis Presley.

Especially not with him, she thinks.

But Elvis has never looked at her like this before and even knowing him as long as she has, she isn’t unaffected. Despite everything he’s been through this past year, he still has the ability to level a woman with a look, she’ll give him that.

His eyes slide back over to you, and Sandy can breathe again. It’s gonna be a long night, she thinks, if a mere glance has her feeling so exposed.

You nod, biting your lip, and she knows how nervous you are, how desperate you are for this to work. She grabs your hand in solidarity and you squeeze it in return.

If it were anyone but you, she wouldn’t have agreed to this. It is much too messy, but extraordinary people and circumstances call for extraordinary measures, and being in Elvis’ world has always meant living in shades of gray.

Sandy knows she’s the only one you’ll trust with this. For as much shit as she gives Elvis, she loves and cares about you both deeply, more than she might voice in mixed company. And you know she understands why this is so important.

Now the two of you just need to convince Elvis of it, too. Though by the increasing level of tension in the room and the way he adjusts himself in his seat, Sandy doesn’t think it’ll take much persuading.

He cuts quite the figure, sitting there in the plush, golden, velvet chair with his bejeweled fingers tapping a slow and steady rhythm out on the arms. After what happened last summer, he’d finally let his hair grow out to its natural color, the salt-and-pepper combined with glinting silvery streaks. It’s incredibly striking, giving him an even more handsome and regal air than before, if that’s possible. With his new post-recovery regime, he is looking good and, according to you, feeling healthier than he had in years. The result is attractive, to say the least.

But while that side of things improved, the sexual piece apparently has not.

Sandy and you perch on the edge of the bed, sitting so close you are pressed against each other, facing him, waiting for his verdict. Elvis takes in the two of you closely before sliding his eyes back over to her.

“And you, Sandra? You agreed to this?” His voice is laden with curiosity and surprise. She doesn’t blame him.

“Yes, with conditions,” she says, willing her voice to stay steady and calm when she’s feeling anything but.

He chuckles darkly. “Of course. I’d expect nothin’ less from you, honey.”

The endearment, one he’s used with her a million times over the years, now comes out laden and warm, sliding through her veins like liquid heat. She’s not sure how she feels about it, to be honest, but it’s a little late to turn back now.

Sandy looks at you for permission to continue. You nod.

“Okay, first, this is a one-time deal,” she begins, forcing herself to look him straight in those endlessly blue eyes.

His lips curve up with the beginning of a smirk and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what he’s thinking. She thinks it’s funny how he’s posturing, considering the whole reason she is here is to help bolster his confidence, but she supposes over twenty years of adoration from females makes his response a habit.

Honestly, it’s the stipulation she’s the least worried about, it being there more for your sake than hers, and it gives you all an out if this goes south. But boundaries are good for Elvis. So she quirks a brow back at him until he nods.

“Second, no one hears about this. It’s a nonstarter. No bragging to the guys, ever. No one outside this room can ever know…especially not Jerry.”

This is the one she is most worried about. While her marriage to Jerry ended over half a decade ago, on relatively decent terms considering the circumstances, she knows this would cut Jer to the core, and that is not why she’s here. Jerry isn’t in Elvis’ employ anymore, but they are still good friends, brothers even, and she doesn’t want to ruin their relationship.

A cloud of seriousness falls over Elvis’ face, banishing his earlier mirth, and that lets her know they are on the same page with this one, despite his terrible track record of secret keeping. “Done,” he says with finality.

“Good. Third, I reserve the right to bow out at any time,” she adds.

“Honey, I’d never force you to do somethin’ you din’t want to do. Ain’t never been like that and ain’t startin’ now,” he says with surprising gentleness.

She nods, expecting as much. Taking a deep breath, she pauses before the last request, mainly because she can’t believe she’s actually saying it out loud. Might as well just get it done.

“Finally, your dick stays out of my pussy.”

He chuckles at your frankness while you choke, coughing wildly—she hadn’t warned you about this one. It’s more the principle of the thing, really. She is along for the ride, sure, but in the end, she’s mostly here for your wellbeing. And by the way he looks at Sandy with something akin to respect and nods as she rubs his wife’s back, she knows he understands.

You eventually recover from Sandy’s bluntness, turning your attention back to your husband with a hopeful look in your eyes. “So, is this…I mean…do you want to do this, baby?”

For the first time, you see his trepidation, his overwhelm of the situation only barely covered by his mask of humor. This is what you’d been talking about, this reluctance and lack of self-assurance. When you’d come to her about the fact that Elvis hadn’t been intimate with you since the medical crisis that nearly killed him, it made perfect sense. Not only had he gone through something terrifying, but his surgeries also changed his body in ways that must have been uncomfortable. Coupled with extensive recovery and weaning off old medications and starting new ones, it was a recipe for disaster in the bedroom.

Sandy knew you had to be desperate for you to ask her for this kind of help. You knew it wasn’t because Elvis found you unattractive or didn’t love you anymore—he was afraid he couldn’t perform, afraid he couldn’t satisfy you, and you were afraid you’d hurt him somehow. It was obvious your sex life had been amazing in the past, though according to you, it had dwindled the sicker and more in denial about things he’d gotten. But for you to invite her into the bedroom to put the spark back in their marriage wasn’t something Sandy had expected.

Apparently, Elvis loved some girl-on-girl threesome action and had indulged in such things back before you and he had finally gotten together. You were never entirely comfortable with the idea when Elvis brought it up in the past—the idea of sharing him didn’t sit well and knowing Elvis, he’d make some poor woman fall in love with him or someone would talk and you’d be in a fix, so the idea had been nixed before it could take root.

But now you were frantic and willing to try almost anything, which apparently included asking your best friend to fool around with you and your husband.

It’s a matter of trust, you’d said, twiddling your fingers uncomfortably in Sandy’s kitchen, tears pooled in your eyes. You knew she’d never talk, knew she’d never betray you, and most importantly, knew she could separate sex from emotion and would never fall in love with your husband.

It was all true. How could she say no to you when you needed her help so badly? So, here she was, apprehensive but intrigued, waiting for Elvis to decide all of your fates.

“You can just watch, baby, if you want to, or whatever, it’s fine,” you encourage him when he seems frozen and unable to respond. Sandy can see you both floundering in indecision and fear and can’t stand it anymore. She’s never been one for patience or inaction, after all, so without further ado, she silences your pleas for your husband’s attention with her lips.

“Oh!” you exclaim in quiet surprise against her mouth, your hands flailing a bit in resistance.

Talking about something like this and doing it are two different things, Sandy knows, but she persists, kissing you gently, hands cupping your cheeks, until you relax enough to kiss her back. She can’t help but feel a little gratification when you sigh softly and yield to her, your hands flitting to the curve of her hips.

It would be stupid to say she didn’t find both you and Elvis attractive, but never in her wildest dreams had it been in the cards to have either of you, so she’d never dwelled much on it. But now, feeling the weight of his gaze as she laps her tongue between your lips, testing your willingness to do this, her body lights on fire.

She pushes through the foreign feeling of being watched so intimately, knowing this is just as much about putting on a good show than anything else, but she didn’t expect it to be quite so tantalizing. Something about being the one to take charge sends a thrill down her spine. Dragging her lips down your neck to your collarbone, she knows she’s not imagining the rapid fluttering of your pulse under her lips or the way you lean back to give her more access.

You’ve never been with a woman, but she knows it’s been a long time since you’ve had attention of this sort from your man, either so when Sandy trails her fingers down over your breast, she feels the jolt go through you. Her moves are deliberate but slow, allowing you to acclimate, allowing Elvis to take in every movement.

She can’t help the warmth pooling in her belly when she palms the heaviness of your breast, pinching your clothed nipple and you gasp, arching into her with genuine willingness.

“Lord have mercy,” Elvis huffs quietly, and you both know you have him.

It’s much too easy, then, to unbutton your blouse, exposing the white lace bra underneath before pulling hers up over her head to reveal her own. You’d been clear about the white—apparently he gets all kinds of excited about little white underthings—and far be it for her to ignore such a titillating detail.

Sandy takes it upon herself to continue the play, pressing her lips to the soft skin of your décolletage, following the soft rise of your breasts before nuzzling and nipping at the dusky areola peek-a-booing through the lace. Mewling and pawing at her head, you are strung so tight Sandy thinks you’re not acting in the least.

It’s a little strange, this softness of your curves against her own, but pleasant. Moreover is the deep satisfaction in her belly at drawing little whimpers out of you as she kisses and reveals more of your skin. Even more surprising is the gratification of bringing something out of both you and your husband that has been out of reach for much too long.

Your fingers cart through her hair, manicured nails tickling her scalp in a way that makes her vibrate. She arches at the contact and looks up at you with a coy smile, sliding a hand up your smooth leg and under the hem of your skirt.

Elvis clears his throat, interrupting them. “Be good lil’ girls f’me and s-strip down to your panties,” he says in a gravelly voice Sandy has never been privy to hearing. A shiver runs down her spine, melting and churning with all the new feelings the evening is bringing. His tone is halfway between a need and a command and neither of you need to be asked twice.

Her inhibitions fall to the floor in a heap along with pants and skirts and bras. Never once in her life did she expect to feel Elvis’ heavy, heated gaze turned on her nearly naked form but now that it’s happening, she can’t help but squirm a little. She has nothing to prove and is usually confident in her skin, but she’s certainly not a young woman anymore, her body soft and curvy with the changes age brings. Her only consolation is at least the three of you are in relatively the same boat in that regard.

Sneaking a glance at Elvis, she is bit relieved to find his examination admiring rather than turned off. Though, considering he has two naked women ready to do his bidding, it seems the natural response.

“Don’t be shy, Satnin. I’m sure Sandra won’t bite toohard if you touch her,” he muses, those bedroom eyes of his flickering with lust. You giggle nervously and then look to Sandy for permission, which she gives with a nod and a reassuring smile.

Your caress is timid at first, then more exploratory of her body than she expects. Maybe it’s the resounding hum of encouragement from your husband giving you more confidence or just pure sexual energy and curiosity, but whatever it is has Sandy feeling delightful. A tweak of a nipple here. A soft tongue there. Hands and mouths finding a rhythm of pleasure.

Sandy palms your bottom, running her fingertips down along the seam of your white underwear, when Elvis cuts in, his voice thick with desire:

“Play with her an’ make her feel good, Sandra.”

Tingles erupt over her skin. She follows orders, sliding her hand down into your panties and through your soft curls until she reaches your hooded clit. She rubs gently, like she would do to herself, and you gasp in her mouth, body bowing to get more friction.

After a few moments, the unmistakable sound of a zipper clicks through the air. Her body suddenly burns with the scandalous nature of it all, and her excitement surprises her.

“Is she wet?” he asks Sandy.

Sliding her fingers down, she can feel the slick of your arousal on her fingertips.

“Yes,” she says unabashedly.

A pause.

“Are you?” His voice is low and dripping with honey.

A pulse of heat starts throbbing in her core, and for the first time tonight, she stumbles over her words, suddenly breathless. “I…I think so?”

“Honey, see if you’re makin’ Sandra excited,” he commands you, then with humor adds, “She apparently doesn’t know.”

Sandy throws a glare Elvis’ way but then your fingers are cold against the blazing heat of her muff, a sensation which makes her jump as you glide your fingers over sensitive, slick skin.

“She’s soaked,” you relay demurely, and all at once Sandy feels like the tables have turned in this little tableau.

“Show me. Both of you.”

His demand makes her stomach drop, like she’s on a roller coaster.

She feels disappointed when you pull your hand away, and the sentiment feels mutual. Both of you display your shining fingers in the dim light.

Elvis crooks his finger and beckons you both closer.

There’s no helping the curious way her eyes drift down and land on his dusky pink cock, the head peeking out from his foreskin, dripping and standing at full attention now he’s been released from the confines of his black pants. Sandy’s mouth goes dry when she realizes just how much nature has blessed him in ways other than his talent.

Is it wrong that she wants to touch it, to feel the heavy heat of him in her palm? To make him shudder underneath her touch? Perhaps so. The itch to torture him with her body just a little for every cunning remark and every dumbass selfish move he’s made in the last 15 years is strong and it makes her tingle just to think of.

He must read the look on her face because his eyes go a bit wide with something unreadable before narrowing with laser focus.

Her heart starts thudding against her ribcage, all the blood rushing out of her head when he wraps his large hand around her wrist, dwarfing it, and pulls her between his spread muscular thighs. Then he draws those glistening fingers of hers right into his mouth.

She gasps. Every nerve in her body is set alight with fireworks as he sucks her fingers clean of his wife’s arousal, his tongue warm and soft and oh-so thorough.

It’s her whimpering now as he pins her with his flaming eyes. Her breath catches. His mouth pops off her digits.

“Mmm…sweet as a sundae. You’ll see, Sandra Dee.” A slow, sly grin spreads across his handsome face as he releases her wrist.

Being on the other end of that devastating smile, especially in a situation like this, has her trembling. It pisses her off a little, actually, that he’s having this effect, and by the glint in his eye, he knows it.

Like he’s saying, Game on.

Then, he looks to you, pulling you close. His mischievousness softens slightly. Sandy is glad to see under the red flush of pleasure on your cheeks there is also a look of relief on your face, as if you are thinking, “Oh, thank heavens, it’s working.”

Sandy steps back, happy to give the couple space, but Elvis’ hand shoots out, latching onto her arm.

“Nuh uh, now where d’ya think you’re goin’?” It’s husky and playful but also fraught with an undercurrent of tension, as though he’s not quite ready and maybe a little nervous about being alone with his wife. He keeps his hand on her arm but turns his attention to you.

“Haven’t sampled another pussy in a loooong time, lil’ mama,” he drawls up at you, “Ya sure you wanna give daddy a taste?” His brow quirks, asking for permission, making sure you’re still comfortable with this arrangement you’ve surprised him with. The words are confident, but Sandy can hear the gravity behind them.

You nod encouragingly. “Yes.”

“Mm’kay then,” and then he sucks your fingers right into his mouth.

Sandy can’t help but blush wildly as she watches him savor her off his wife’s hand. And it’s positively obscene the way he opens his eyes and stares into hers brazenly as he does it.

Never has she felt quite so exposed. Arousal swirls in her core, betraying all her sensibilities.

Elvis runs his tongue under his upper lip after he’s done, where he lets it peek out at the corner of his mouth with a smirk. “Now ain’t that jus’ the cherry on top,” he purrs, eyes sparkling.

Sandy hates how she goes a bit weak in the knees at that. God, this man infuriates her, always has in that loving way of his, but this is a whole different level of understanding and intimacy she’s not accustomed to with him.

But whether she likes it or not, her body is absolutely buzzing with anticipation for the both of you, as evidenced by the way she clenches her thighs and the way her panties get just a little bit more ruined.

The motion doesn’t go unnoticed by Elvis, and his gaze darkens.

Oh, it’s gonna be a long night, alright.

A long night, indeed.

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance!

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

@littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

@precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog @xenaspace3-blog

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

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