Bang Bang

Done with the last of the windows, Laney and Marina dump their cleaning buckets and drift toward the two boxes shoved behind the sofa. They lift the flaps. Inside, an assortment of leather cowboy hats and glossy micro-bikinis waits. Without discussion they peel out of work clothes and slide into the bits of fabric that barely cover anything. Marina fastens a hat low on Laney’s brow; Laney sets another on Marina’s damp curls. They feel the air across every inch of exposed skin. Mischief already flashes between them. They sprint for the yard hose, cranking the nozzle until the spray hits skin like electricity. Water slaps nipples through thin nylon, drips down the curve of their bellies, and soaks the tiny triangles between their thighs. They twist the stream at each other until the fabric is transparent and clinging. Feeling mischievous they hook fingers in elastic and yank the wet bikinis off; nipples tighten in open air. Inside again they shove against the cool tile wall, mouths open and tongues fighting. They drop to the floor, hips shifting until Laney’s mouth finds Marina’s wet cunt and Marina’s tongue flicks up to meet Laney’s. Fingers follow tongues. They oil their hands, push wrists and then whole fists deep, knuckles grinding inside the same heat they just tasted, stretching each other until muscles seize and their cries fill the empty house.