Canceling Plans

Penny sits on the edge of the bed, dress on, lipstick fresh, checking her watch. "Babe, how much longer?" Darcie wanders in from the closet wearing nothing below the waist, shirt in her hand, genuinely unsure. "This one or the black?" Penny reaches out and cracks her palm across her wife’s bare ass. "Either. You look good naked." Darcie’s mouth parts. "Again." Penny tells her to lie across her lap. Darcie tosses the shirt aside, climbs over, and Penny starts slow—open-handed slaps mixed with slick fingers gliding between her legs. Darcie moans, hips lifting to meet each strike. One lands harder than intended. "Careful," Darcie laughs breathlessly, "can’t be squirming at dinner." Penny chuckles, rubs the red print. "We should get moving." Darcie slides off her lap and starts peeling Penny’s dress away. "We’re already late," she whispers, lips brushing Penny’s neck. Penny tries to protest, but her wife’s hand is already between her thighs. Darcie drops to her knees, tongue working slow and deliberate while Penny dials. The call connects—her mom. Penny keeps her voice steady, explains that Darcie’s under the weather, they’ll have to cancel. Her mom fires questions. Darcie, hidden beneath the bedspread, sucks harder. Penny bites back a moan, insists everything’s fine, they don’t need soup, really. Her mom grows suspicious, demands to speak to Darcie. Penny lowers the phone. Darcie takes it, voice suddenly hoarse. "Sorry, Mom, can’t tonight… my tongue’s killing me." She grins up at Penny, tongue flicking once more, and Penny claps a hand over her own mouth to keep from laughing—or moaning—while the interrogation continues on speaker.