Brenda shifted restlessly against the door of the bathroom stall, the lock poking uncomfortably into her back. She arched against the body of the auburn haired woman buried knuckle deep, and gasped at the rough linen fabric of a blazer scraping her sensitive nipples. She could feel her orgasm dancing just out of reach, and she slid a hand down to press at her clit, opening her mouth to the punishing kiss, the hot tongue against her lips, stroking into her mouth in rhythm with the fingers slicking into her, and she closed her eyes. Moving her hips faster, she rubbed desperately, the pressure almost painful even as she felt the first flutters of climax under her thumb.
"That's it, that's right. Come for me, let me hear you." Heated words against her gasping mouth.
Brenda moaned, and shook, and rubbed herself, and then the flutters became spasms and she clenched hard around the hands between her thighs, pressing her breasts against the delicious rasp of blazer and buttons, and she sighed a name as she came.
"Mmmm, Sharon, yes. Just like that." Her eyes were still closed, and so she didn't see the flash of anger cross the angular features, though she noticed keenly the loss of the fingers teasing aftershocks from her, and the sudden chill of the air against her exposed breasts and thighs, as the woman stepped back from her. Brenda opened her eyes to complain, and narrowly managed to grab the hand, still sticky with her pleasure, streaking towards her face. "Whoa, sugar, I'm not into the rough stuff." She exclaimed, pushing the woman as far back as possible in the small space.
"My name is Angela, you bitch. You'd think you'd remember it, since I signed for the dinner and the drinks tonight."
"Angela, sugar is just a term of endearment where I come from. Not a cue to get ready to rumble." Brenda retorted, buttoning her blouse and pulling her panties up from around her knees, letting her skirt settle back into place.
"Yeah? Well, you'll have to explain what Sharon is, where you come from then." Angela scoffed, and shoved past Brenda, flipping the lock and slamming out of the stall. "You can find your own way home, sugar," she tossed over her shoulder just before the door banged closed behind her.
Brenda exhaled shakily. She sat down on the toilet seat, and pulled a wad of tissue from the roll. She blotted her thighs, pulled fresh tissue, and wiped the tears from her cheeks, before standing up. She reached for her purse, but it wasn't hanging on the little hook just inside the stall. She looked on the floor, bending low to see if it had gotten kicked aside during their...liaison. It wasn't in either of the adjacent stalls, and Brenda had the sinking suspicion that Angela had decided to go Dutch in a most unorthodox way. She flushed the toilet and opened the door to the stall, taking a few short steps to the bank of sinks and washed her hands twice, with an extra pump of soap. She pulled a few paper towels free, swiping the water from her hands and stuffing the damp wad into the trash bin. As she pulled her hand away, she caught a glimpse of beige leather beneath the paper. She flipped the lid open, and dug through the layers of rubbish, and snagged the strap of a leather purse. She breathed a sigh of relief when her wallet and her cell phone were in place. She swiped open her phone, and pulled up the app that made a car come to her wherever she was, and went back out to the bar, and waited.
Sharon sat in the dark and did not speak. The cloying scent of incense was not the source of comfort that it had been in the past, and she could feel a migraine building behind her left eye.
"In order for this to work, you have to actually confess your sins out loud." Father Mccormick was kind, and his patience was evident in his slow brogue.
"Have you ever wondered why that is, Father? Why we should have to confess with our mouths the sins we commit in our hearts? Because lately, I have wondered if there's any point to this at all. Shouldn't God already know what I've done? Or thought about doing?" Sharon asked, wrapping the beads of the worn wooden rosary through her fingers and around her knuckles.
"If I spent much time pondering why we do things like we do, I don't think I'd have any left over to actually meet my obligations to the congregation. But, let's start with an easy one. How long has it been since your last confession?"
"It has been 3 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days since my last confession. But...I think it's probably going to be longer than that yet. I'm sorry Father, I just can't...I can't." Sharon pushed open the little door and strode quickly down the long aisle to the heavily ornate doors of the church, and stepped out into the sunlight, blinking against the brightness. She breathed deeply, and if the LA air wasn't exactly clear and clean, at least it didn't smell like shame and guilt and myrrh. She shoved the rosary in her handbag, and pulled out her keys, as she walked down the steps to the parking lot. She was the only car parked near the church, aside from the choir van, and the battered old Ford that Father Mccormick drove. She hit the button on her key fob and the door to her brand new cherry red Infinity Q60 unlocked.
She glanced at her watch, it was just past 7, and she had an hour to kill before heading to the station. She thought about going to the exercise center in the basement of the building she still thought of as new, even though it had been the home of her departments for the last 7 years. But the prospect of sweating her way into needing a second shower wasn't appealing in the slightest. She clicked on her turn signal and headed out towards the highway. The car was an impulse buy - more sensible than a canary yellow miata, but still enough horsepower to make her thighs tingle when she hit the open road. Andy had been horrified - and she supposed that for a man who had never seen fit to save up for much, assuming his pension would cover everything after he retired - his reaction was not unexpected. What had surprised her was the way he reacted to the news that she had been putting away slightly more than 30% of her paycheck for the near entirety of her adult life, and thanks to Jack and his proclivity for gambling, it was invested very well. So the penalty she'd had to pay for withdrawing 60k in cash hardly made a dent in her total savings, and that was the thing that sent Andy into a tailspin. He had slept on the couch for a week, and then, like nothing had happened, he'd just climbed into bed and spooned up against her, his arm heavy on her waist. In the morning, he'd stammered out an apology - she got the gist that he was under the impression that Jack had left her effectively destitute apart from the condo, so discovering that she could retire tomorrow and live comfortably for the next 40 years had been a shock. Sharon still wasn't sure why it mattered either way, but she put it out of her mind, and hit the button that opened up the sunroof.
If anyone had asked her where she was driving, she would have had no answer - but it wasn't as much of a surprise as it might have been when she found herself a few blocks away from Brenda's new place. She looked around, and peeked at her watch. There was enough time to get back to the highway and then to the station, and if she happened to drive past Brenda's home, well that just couldn't be helped. Sharon hit the gas, and grinned a little as the car leapt forward in response. She was beginning to understand why Brenda had always had an unhealthy fondness for sports cars. She drove down the tree-lined street, and slowed a bit as she passed the driveway with the canary yellow miata in it. She looked at her watch again. Brenda should have left already, to get to the courthouse on time. She sped up and pulled to the stop sign at the corner. It was not her job to get Brenda to work on time. She turned left and nodded resolutely. Brenda was a grown woman. And Sharon was engaged to Andy. He was loyal and kind, and he loved her so very much. She turned left again. It wasn't his fault that she didn't love him like that, anymore. He had only been trying to help her, when he brought Brenda back into her life. She was the awful person who had treated his trust like so much garbage. She was the one who had used Brenda, and made promises she couldn't keep. She was the one who couldn't confess her sins and ask for forgiveness. She turned left a third time. She was just going to make sure nothing was wrong. Brenda had gauzy, barely there curtains, and it was a one story hacienda, so she could just peek in and make sure nobody was lying on the floor bleeding out, or knocked unconscious from a gas leak. It would take 2 minutes, and she could still be at work on time.
Sharon turned left a fourth time, and slowed down in front of the driveway with the canary yellow miata. She pulled up to the curb and parked, flicking on the 4ways as she got out of the car and walked quickly to the side of the house that, if her memory served, held Brenda's bedroom. She cupped her hands on the glass to block out the glare and looked in the first window, frowning at the neatly made, but clearly unslept in bed. She moved to the next window, and saw nothing out of place in the little room that doubled as an office. The next 3 windows were equally fruitless, and Sharon was beginning to panic.
She peeked into the kitchen, and noted the two wine glasses on the counter. It dawned on her then how foolish she was. How reckless she was being. She stepped back from the window and headed back towards the front of the house. She paused at the row of hedges in front of the porch. She was fairly certain what she'd see when she looked through the living room window, given the unrumpled bed and the two glasses. But she couldn't stop herself from walking around to the small porch, and looking through the window. It was a surprise then, to see Brenda sprawled half on the couch, half on the floor - but alone and fully clothed. Sharon considered her options. It was possible that Brenda's drinking partner was out getting breakfast. It was also possible that Brenda had had a bad date, and come home and fallen asleep on the couch. It was the third possibility - that Brenda had been drugged and then assaulted or robbed or.. Her brain skidded away from the next thought fast enough to make her a little dizzy. She pounded on the door. Nothing. She looked back at Brenda through the window again. No movement. She knocked on the door again. Still nothing.
Sharon said a little prayer to the God she wasn't sure she believed in anymore, that Brenda had kept her terrible habit from growing up in the insular little community in Georgia, and she hopped down to the hedges, and squatted to look underneath. She was relieved to see a rock that was a good 4 inches bigger than the rest of the mulch and stone under the bush, and she reached out and grabbed it. She pinched the sides, and shook, and a key fell into her waiting palm. Tossing the fake rock aside, she looked once again through the window - and then she unlocked the door and let herself in to Brenda's home.