if you are feeling so inclined, mayhaps a meetup of the ultimate chintz wives: Daphne, Lisa, and Amelia?
It was going to be more like character driven feelings stuff but then I got horny sjfhaufhsj. Faux cheating, breeding kink, exhibitionism 😜
"...Sorry," Lisa says, clenching her fingers tight around her mug of green tea, "Sorry, could you tell me your husband's name again?"
"It's okay," Daphne reassures gently touching the back of Lisa's tense hands. Daphne's a big toucher, and she has soft, cool hands. It makes it hard to concentrate around her. "Emmanuel."
"And he had amnesia too?"
"That's what the hospital said, but I think he was made from the river herself. His eyes were sparkles from the surface and his voice was scraped from the bed."
Daphne's voice is smooth, easy, practiced. Not like a lie, but like a parent reading a bedtime story. Infused with calm patience and affection. They've had this conversation before, Lisa's pretty sure. Around other people, Lisa spends a lot of time silent, these days, trying to catch as much information as she can without having to ask questions she's probably asked already. Around Daphne, Lisa knows she can ask freely.
"What do you think I was made from?"
"That's obvious," Daphne says, pulling Lisa's forearm up to her face and kissing the inside of her wrist. Her cheek is soft, nestled against Lisa's arm, and her gaze sparkling, alive. "A dream."
The line is cheesy, but the delivery sincere, and Lisa's always had a soft spot for a hopeless flirt in any case. Daphne must be able to feel the pulse beating fast in her wrist when she kisses it again.
"Your husband-" Lisa manages to say, but Daphne interrupts:
"I don't want to talk about my husband anymore."
Her eyes are dark, hungry. She's shuffled around the bench seat of her breakfast table to rest a palm on Lisa's bare knee, her other hand still wrapped around Lisa's forearm. Lisa twists down a smile and plays stern.
"Your husband," she says again, eyes tracking down deliberately to Daphne's mouth, "Do you think he'll be home soon?"
Daphne frowns a little, searching Lisa's face, so Lisa lays it on thicker, "He doesn't statisfy you, does he? He doesn't meet your needs. Do you think he'll catch us?"
"Given that he's been missing for six and a half years..." Daphne dangles the information, and when Lisa nods to show she already knew that, a brilliant smile lights up her face, "...yes, I expect he's back any minute."
"We'll need to be quiet, then," Lisa says, standing and taking Daphne's hand, leading her out to the front room, to the chintz couch Daphne is thinking of replacing, that her husband had taken in for her single handed, and that Lisa is going to take her apart on single tongued.
Daphne gets naked with her without compunction and goes where Lisa moves her, lying on the couch cushions with her legs up in a V, giggling when Lisa firmly holds her ankles and pushes her legs even further. Evidently, Daphne had been keeping up with the yoga routine Lisa had laid out for her. Good girl.
Lisa dives into her hairy cunt, enjoying the enthusiastic sounds in response. As far as Lisa's known her, Daphne's all about freedom. Free love, free feeling, free spirit. The flash of an image: Daphne in the drivers seat of a hot, black car, stretched out and confident, her elbow hanging out the window and a cocky smile on her face. The image doesn't quite fit; Daphne doesn't drive for environmental reasons, and her vegan hesrt would shudder at the leather interior. A strange intrusion on their love scene. Lisa bats the thought away, replacing it with filthier ones. She sticks two fingers in Daphne to free up her tongue, to say:
"You're being such a naughty wife, Daphne. Spread out so wide for me. A good, Christian girl like you."
The last has Daphne rolling her eyes and laughing, and Lisa laughs in kind. A private joke: the newspaper article that had led Lisa to Daphne's door in search of a cure for her and Ben had mislabelled her as a Christian - Daphne is firmly a New-Age Spiritualist.
"What am I going to do when he catches us?" Daphne teases, smiling bigger when Lisa looms over her with threat.
"He's going to have to punish you," Lisa says, and slaps Daphne's stomach lightly, then her chest, then grabs one of her breasts and gropes it with prejudice, bullying her brown nipple until Daphne cries out. "Then he'll fuck you, right here, while I watch."
Daphne squeezes around her, and pants. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. He might even fuck you pregnant."
"Fuck." She turns her face away, towards the yellow flowered back of the couch, giving Lisa the perfect opportunity to speak into her ear for her closer:
"But guess what?"
"What?"
"It'll be my baby."
"Jesus Christ," a voice complains from across the room, over Daphne's wail as she cums around Lisa's fingers. Lisa pops her head up over the back of the couch to grin unapologetically at Daphne's roommate, Amelia, who's hanging up her bags with her traditional air of grumpiness.
"We were just talking about him," Lisa quips, making Daphne laugh and Amelia glare. Amelia used to be Christian, somehow, or maybe she still is, Lisa isn't sure. She remembers the explanation being long-winded and confusing. Lisa is sure that the forbidding repression is at least 75% as much an act as her and Daphne's husband routine.
Case in point: Amelia pays no heed to their nakedness and takes up the neighbouring armchair, lifting up a local newspaper from 5 counties away from her stack and frowning at it.
"What is it that you're looking for again?" Lisa asks, idly stroking inside Daphne, enjoying how she twitches from the sensitivity.
"Jimmy," Amelia says - despite the shortness of her tone, she always answers Lisa clearly - "Or Castiel. My husband."
"Castiel..." Lisa repeats, the name stirring something in her. Something troubling. She feels Amelia's assessing gaze on her, then there's a rustle from her newspaper, and a clearing of her throat.
"Daphne. Why is your girlfriend able to think right now? Aren't you supposed to be on her like an animal?"
"An interesting idea," Daphne says, lifting a hand to Lisa's face and slipping her thumb into the side of her mouth, letting Lisa gnaw on it, "The human and the animal are not so far apart, are they? This is why amethyst allows us to communicate our peaceful energies with dogs -"
"Shut your crazy mouth and fuck her already," Amelia demands, still behind her paper, to which Lisa and Daphne exchange amused, affirming eyecontact.
Lisa resituates herself to be propped up on the arm of the couch, her firm ass pushed up towards Daphne (and, by extention, Amelia), and Daphne is caressing her immediately, leaving tingling trails in the wake of her exploring hands.
"Where are you going to go?" Daphne asks, the edge of her breath brushing Lisa's holes.
"I'm not going to be chased out of my own chair by a pair of insatiable heathens," comes Amelia's firm answer, followed by the pointed flapping of her newspaper. "Don't get any stains on our couch. It's nice."
The indiscrete sound of a zipper being pulled down. Lisa grins. These two are weird, no doubt about it, but Lisa likes weird. She likes a hint of danger. She likes that the chintz fabric of the couch is likely going to cause a friction burn on her forearms. She might not remember exactly what happened tomorrow, but she knows she can always ask.
