Alysen Christensen, in the throes of domesticity, tends to her laundry with a secret yearning. Her hands, soaping the garments, mimic the intimate caresses of her fantasies, Delaney and Burgess. The steam from the dryer fogs up the room, mirroring the heat between her legs. She leans against the cool washing machine, her body aching for their touch, her fingers tracing the lace of her panties before slipping inside, her moans drowned out by the hum of the appliances.