Chapter 2 -- Unexpected Guests (Thursday, August 3rd)
The next morning, Elizabeth McCullough looked up from her painting in annoyance. Damn doorbell! Who'd be at the door anyway? It's not like she knew anyone in the town. She supposed Peter might have forgotten his key, but it was too early for him to be home. Sighing, she dropped her brush in a jar, wiped her hands, and went out of the studio. Her annoyance at the interruption was aggravated by the fact that she'd gotten a late start on her work in the first place. Peter had come home a bit earlier than usual the day before, and had practically dragged her into the bedroom as soon as he'd walked in the door. She didn't know what had gotten into him, but it had made for a very enjoyable evening! He'd come twice -- once in her mouth, once in her pussy -- before they paused to order pizza, then deposited another load of cum between her legs before finally drifting off to sleep. And when you added what he'd done with his mouth and hands into the mix, she'd come more times than he had. It had been a lot of fun, Elizabeth had to admit, but she'd slept through the alarm the next morning.
Their new house was so ridiculously large that it felt like she had to walk a mile to get to the front door. She watched herself in the mirror on the back of the door as she came down the hall. The word "petite" was made with women like her in mind: only 5'2", slim, small-breasted and narrow-hipped. Her dark hair was cut in a short, rough shag, above the shoulders and in bangs over her startling green eyes. There was a smudge of paint on her cheek, and many more on her black jeans and t-shirt. She paused to collect herself for a moment. She was honest enough to admit that she was just feeling lonely and out of sorts with the move, but she and Peter had discussed it extensively, and had both decided to go for it for the sake of his career. Her art could be done anywhere, and though she was selling some work, it wasn't paying its own way yet. The money Peter was making at Wills-Power would pay for a lot of paint!
She opened the door to find three women standing on the porch. Even though she tried not to be judgmental, the descriptions her brain tossed up included terms like "soccer mom" and "trophy wife". All three were smiling broadly at her. They were like a matched set: one blonde and two brunettes, but all with bright blue eyes and statuesque builds, to put it mildly. Their light summer dresses -- much more suitable to the climate than her own clothes, she had to admit -- left little to the imagination concerning their figures. They all carried expensive-looking handbags.
"Hello," chirped the blonde. She looked to be about forty, but a very well-preserved forty. Her companions looked somewhat younger. "You must be Elizabeth! I'm Susan Wills, Victor Wills' wife. My husband mentioned that he'd had a chat with your husband, and suggested that I come by with a few friends to welcome you to our little town. This is Erin," -- the one with long brown hair -- "and Ann," with shorter hair.
Elizabeth stood in the door, absently rubbing the back of her neck and staring at them. She was bemused. It was like the invasion of the suburbanites. She could only imagine what they thought of her appearance. Recovering herself, she invited them inside. It would have been rude to not accept the friendly overture. She led them back into the oversize kitchen and offered them something to drink. As she poured some iced teas, Susan started chattering on about the town and their families and how nice the house was and how much they all liked having new neighbours and how did she like the town so far and did she have any kids and on and on. Erin and Ann were quieter, but did get in their own comments and questions from time to time as well. Elizabeth almost laughed out loud at the avalanche of talk, but did her best to answer. The town seemed nice enough, but a bit dull for her tastes. No, they didn't have any kids. No, she wasn't bored being home all day without kids because she had her art that she worked on.
They kept commenting on her appearance -- not criticising, exactly, more about her skin type and lack of makeup -- and eventually Susan opened up her handbag and pulled out an array of tubes and compacts and brushes. She pulled her chair over so she was sitting directly in front of Elizabeth and solemnly stared at her for a moment before selecting something from the debris on the table. Leaning in, she began applying the makeup, some kind of cream, to her face.
