Doing the laundry

Gwen stood by the dryer with Linda's bra dangling from her fingers. Linda reached around her for the detergent and brushed against her hip. They bumped elbows over the washer next. Small accidents, or the quiet start of something else. Gwen's fingers touched the thin lace. Cotton shorts rode low on her hips. She bent to pull the towels free. Linda watched the curve of her ass, the white cotton stretching across each cheek. The laundry could wait. Then Gwen felt warm breath against her neck. Linda's hands found her waist. The next moment, cotton shorts hit the floor and Gwen faced the dryer, knuckles white on the metal. Linda's fingers slid between her thighs and pressed. Gwen's hips rocked forward. The dryer hummed beneath her skin. They never finished the load.