A/N: Well then. I fully intended on having the last installment of this series be the last, but evidently I'm not quite done with these ladies yet. Thank you to everybody who read and reviewed the last part, I love reading comments and hearing thoughts. And to everybody who thought this story should end after the last part, I agreed with you but my muse didn't and she's rather pushy; I've learned to just do what she wants. So, she went kind of off the rails with this one and I'm not exactly sure where's she's headed but I'm just going to go with it.
A/N 2: Unicorn: I think it was you who said that Sharon needs to explore Brenda's "never done it" list. I'm SO glad you think so because I've already started a series of one shots with that theme. The first one should be up soon and I hope you'll read and review!
Brenda has been waspish. She has been snippy and combative and liable to snap sarcastically at anyone who raises her ire. Which has been everyone, this past week. Since…since. It wasn't that she was expecting Sharon to call and it wasn't that she wanted her to, but her skin has been prickling, tingling uncomfortably and she yearns to claw her way out of it. She power walks through the parking garage, shoving her uncooperative purse so roughly onto her shoulder she breaks a nail. She wants to claw at her arms. She wants to put her fist through a wall. She wants to run miles and miles and miles until the muscle strain melts away her tension. She wants to tear her hair out and scream. She does not want to go home. Home is the last place she wants to go but if she stays in this infernal building for one more second she is going to shoot someone. She wrenches her car door open and tenses at the sound of her phone ringing. It takes everything she has not to throw it on the ground and stomp on it. "Deputy Chief Johnson." She snaps and she sounds enraged even to her own ears.
"Are you okay, Bren?" Fritz's voice comes warm and concerned through the phone line and she feels her fingers twitch.
"I'm fine. What is it Fritz?" She still sounds angry, but at least now she sounds angry a little slower.
"Right." He has gotten sort of used to her mood lately. "Well I just called to say that we caught a case and I won't be home for dinner." Brenda breathes deeply and feels a tiny iota of frustration unknot from her shoulders.
"Okay." She says simply, briefly savoring this slight easing of pressure on her chest. "That's fine. Stay safe."
"I will, I lo-" She hangs up and shakes herself. She is fine. She is just fine. It's just her time of the month and she just needs to stop at that little bakery for a slice of chocolate cake.
Sharon stares into the glass of wine she is swirling absently. The light catches on the amber hues and makes it seem darker, deeper, richer. She curls her legs further up under her and sinks into the plush cushions of her living room couch. She saw Brenda today, for the first time since their…last evening together. Something had flashed in the Chief's eyes for a single moment, then disappeared and Sharon hadn't reached out to pull Brenda into her arms. They were consummate professionals, Sharon asking her questions, ensuring the paperwork was in order and Brenda's team investigating the shooting death of a lottery winner. The Chief had been brilliant, as usual. Once her part at the crime scene was done, she had taken her leave and Brenda had said good bye, her face as much a mask as Sharon's was, and that had been that. She closes her eyes, trying to force herself to relax, to feel comfort. She has taken a long, hot, lavender scented bath and indulged in not only a glass of wine but a bowl of white chocolate covered raspberries. She listened to her favorite cd, put on her favorite soft cotton loungewear, but it still wasn't enough. She isn't hazy or relaxed or calm. She had still succumbed to a moment of weakness and called Brooke. She shouldn't have, she knows this, not when she is holding on to her control so tenuously. She wants to call Brooke back and tell her not to come, and she probably would if she thought the woman would listen to her. The knock at her door comes anyway and she sighs heavily, pushing her hair out of her eyes. She doesn't move to get up because Brooke will let herself in with her key; the knock is just a courtesy. Sharon tilts her head, staring at nothing until her ex-wife appears in her field of vision. She has clearly just come from work or working, still impeccably dressed in all black. The skirt clings to a taut ass and displays long legs muscled from hiking. Several buttons of her jacket are undone, highlighting the soft, pale skin of her décolletage. Her dark hair is shorter than it's been in a while, sleek, shiny and layered to frame a heart shaped face. Her brown eyes are almost black behind long thick lashes. She has aged well, as well as Sharon. She smiles at her former partner and Sharon's lips quirk up in response. It's miraculous, really, that this is her ex. As amicable as their split was, it was still a divorce and yet here they are; Brooke will come when Sharon needs her. Brooke settles down beside Sharon on the couch. She brushes a lock of hair out of Sharon's eyes, the gesture friendly and familiar.
"Are you okay, Shar?" She is clearly concerned and her face, as severe as Sharon's can be sometimes, is warm and open. Sharon sighs and wordlessly offers her the glass of wine. Brooke takes it, their fingers brushing, and sips.
"Ethan just made Sergeant." Sharon says and Brooke breaks into a brilliant smile, face glowing with pride for their son.
"I know. And Nora managed to pass her Transnational Labor Law Seminar. She's very impressed with herself." Sharon snorts.
"So I hear." They share a smile, an acknowledgment of the wonderful children they raised together. Whatever else, they succeeded in this. They fall silent and Brooke just looks at her, questioning with her eyes and Sharon sighs again. "I'm fine. Thank you for coming."
Brooke evaluates her briefly. "Tell me about her." She prompts, ever swift and efficient and Sharon has to fight the urge to roll her eyes. She actually thought for a second Brooke might not to be able to tell, might not be able to take one look at her and to read her like a book as she always has. This woman who knows all of her, better than anybody. This woman who knows her in ways Brenda never could. She's too fucking old for this.
"She's straight." Brooke winces reflexively. Even at sixty, she still thinks straight girls should only happen in hotels, bar bathrooms or out of town. Sharon briefly thinks she might not say it, that she might stop there, but this is Brooke. She'll tell her everything. "And married." Sharon admits and Brooke tuts in disapproval.
"Oh, please," Sharon fires back without any true malice, "you fucked Theresa a month after her wedding."
"Her wedding to a woman." Brooke clarifies, like that makes it completely different. They stare at each other until the corners of Sharon's lips twitch. Brooke beams just a little bit. They settle into their comfortable familiarity; an ease of interaction borne from decades of intimacy.
"So what happened? She wouldn't leave him?" Sharon shakes her head. She snags the glass of wine from Brooke and takes a long sip, passing it back.
"I told her not to." Brooke raises an eyebrow at that. "She's my superior officer and it would get…more complicated than I can explain. Plus, I don't think we even like each other, or get along particularly well."
"Your superior…" The light bulb clicks on and Brooke gasps in shock, face aglow with delight. "Sharon Raydor you didn't!" Her lips curve into the most decadent, naughtiest grin Sharon has ever seen. "Chief Johnson?" Sharon curses herself for all those nights she ranted and raved to Brooke on the phone about "that insufferable woman". Brooke gasps again. She is clearly enjoying this. "Oh do tell." She is positively giddy. Sharon is trying not to be helplessly amused by how delicious her ex-wife finds this. Because Brooke would revel in this; Sharon knew it and it's kind of why she needs her right now. "Was it just filthy?" Brooke demands, wine forgotten and focused wholly on this conversation. "Did all that pent up anger and frustration finally give way to all consuming lust?" Sharon rolls her eyes. "Did you fuck her on her desk?"
"I most certainly did not!" She might have taken leave of her senses long enough to get…involved…with her superior officer but she wasn't yet crazy enough to actually have sex with the woman at their place of employment. Though behind her righteous indignation, Sharon can't help but feel a stab of regret that she hadn't had the opportunity to re-enact the fantasies that had tormented her for months. Every time they had argued, Brenda flushed and angry over something she had done or said, she couldn't help but imagine shutting the infuriating woman up with a deep, bruising kiss. And channeling all their animosity into the passion she had always known they could share. Shoving Brenda onto her desk and reaching up her skirt to take her right there. Kneeling down in front of the Chief's chair to lick her until she screamed Sharon's name in a whole new way.
Brooke waits patiently for Sharon to come back to reality, sipping her wine and watching her ex-wife flush with desire. Sharon shakes herself out of her heady daydreams and turns to see her ex looking at her with an all knowing expression and glinting eyes.
"It was good, wasn't it?" She asks, smirking at her ex. She knows that look on Sharon's face, she knows that look very well.
"Incredible." Sharon admits with a sigh. "She was absolutely incredible." Brooke tilts her head at how soft and warm and reverent Sharon's voice is. Her expression morphs into one of sympathy as she suddenly understands.
"You care for her." Brooke says and it is not a question, but Sharon nods anyway.
"I do." She is past the point of denying it to herself. "I like her." Sharon sounds mildly disgusted with herself. "There's something about her that just…draws me in." She can talk to Brooke this honestly and it's a relief to finally say the words. "And I respect her, despite her chronic inability to follow the rules. And when we…were together, it was…" Sharon trails off and drags a hand through her hair. She can't find the words to describe what it was like making love with Brenda. She can't explain how beautiful she was, how free and uninhibited, how completely she gave herself to Sharon and she doesn't really want to. Those memories are just for her.
"But you told her not to leave her husband." Brooke prompts.
"I did." Sharon nods, fortifying herself. "She loves her husband and they're good together. Much better than her and I would ever be. And you know how I do hate to be one of those women who shares a few nights of incredible sex with someone and suddenly thinks she's in love and starts picking out kitchen appliances."
"God forbid." Brooke says flippantly, though she hates those women, too.
"There's nowhere for us to go. Better for us to end it now than wait until…we can't." And there's the crux of the problem, of course, Sharon realizes. She is a realist at heart and smart enough to know nothing good would ever come of a relationship with her (previously) completely straight and married boss. But Brenda has claimed a part of her in a way no one has since Brooke.
"But you think about her." Brooke says so Sharon doesn't have to. The heavy sigh and the look in her ex-wife's eyes answer that question for her. "Oh, Shar." Brooke whispers softly, rubbing the tense muscles at the back of Sharon's neck.
Brooke studies her former wife and is struck by how tired she looks. She feels a twinge of pain in her heart. She was in love with this woman once, and loves her still. She raised two children with Sharon and woke up next to her every day for twenty years. Even at the end of their marriage when they were at their worst, Sharon was always supportive, always kind to her. And in their divorce Sharon was reasonable and respectful, never vengeful or greedy. Brooke is sure it's only because Sharon is more warm hearted than anyone would ever guess and infinitely devoted to their kids that they have remained friends. And Sharon is the best friend she has, the most important person in her life, the one she can always rely on, the one who makes her laugh and Brooke hates to see her hurting. A part of her heart will always belong to Sharon and it's that part that aches looking at the love of her life now. Sharon lets her head fall onto Brooke's shoulder, soaking up her warmth and strength and the ache dissipates just a little bit. She caresses Sharon's hair in the way that she knows is soothing for her and presses a kiss to her head. Brooke isn't stupid, she knows why Sharon called her; she knows what Sharon needs, what they both need, to make that little ache go away. And Brooke will give it to her, she'll give the woman who gave her everything whatever she needs. "Come on." She whispers, wrapping an arm around Sharon and helping her up. Sharon slowly stands and looks Brooke in the eyes.
"Brooke…" Sharon briefly feels bad about this, about calling Brooke and using her and about what they are going to do. But she has slept alone for a week and she needs this.
The minute they are in Sharon's bedroom, Brooke takes her mouth, kissing her soft and sweet and slow and just how Sharon likes. She sighs into the kiss and relaxes into Brooke's familiar embrace. It's easy, so easy, to fall into this, this comfort and warmth and contact that she so desperately needs. "It's okay." Brooke whispers against Sharon's lips. "It'll be okay." And it will, Brooke knows this from all the times Sharon has soothed and comforted her after a break up. It will be okay. Briefly, Sharon remembers saying those same words to Brenda when she pushed her out her front door and makes a strangled little noise of pain at the memory. She had known then, she thinks, that they had been a lie.
She captures Brooke's lips fiercely, biting then sucking on the full curve of the lower. She digs her fingers into Brooke's hips and pulls her even closer, pressing their bodies as close as they can physically be. She needs to forget; she needs to forget how Brenda felt and how she tasted and how wonderful those nights were and she needs to remember who she is. She probes Brooke's mouth with a firm tongue, licking the roof of her mouth, kissing her as hard as she can; she needs Brooke to remind her who she is. Brooke moans against her mouth, clutching hard at her hips and meeting the intensity of her kiss. She needs Brooke to make her feel like herself again. The self she was before Brenda Leigh Johnson.
"What do you want, Sharon?" Brooke husks, licking lewdly up her neck and sucking the skin behind her ear. Her hands splay over Sharon's hips and Sharon groans. God she needs this. She lets her head loll to the side, opening more of her neck for Brooke to nip and kiss. Brooke bites at her collarbone. She can read Sharon's mood just by the hum of the skin under her fingers; she knows when Sharon is like this that she that she needs it a little rough.
"Fuck me." Sharon gasps, tugging at the zipper of Brooke's skirt, forcing it down her hips to squeeze the firm globes of her ass. She makes quick work of her blouse, ripping it off and tossing it somewhere. She instantly cups Brooke's pert breasts and Brooke moans at the strength of Sharon's massaging hands and quickly shoves her partner's pants down over her hips. She growls as Sharon's curls are revealed to her, along with the strong lines of her legs. She reaches around to grab Sharon's hands and pull them from her body, their breasts rubbing together and she holds them behind Sharon's back. She wastes no time cupping a hand between Sharon's legs, stroking through her folds, and drinking in the woman's moans and cries. She reaches up to palm a full breast, squeezing it roughly and pinching Sharon's nipple, earning a gasp and a shudder. She nips at Sharon's lips and pushes her back towards the bed, falling on top of her.
She settles between Sharon's spread legs, massaging and rubbing with the palm and heel of her hand, spreading Sharon's wetness. It's been awhile since they've done this and even longer since Sharon has needed it this desperately. Brooke circles her clit and grins against her mouth when Sharon moans and arches her hips. "Fuck you like this?" Brooke teases, kissing back down Sharon's neck and over the sweat slicked skin of her chest.
"Yes. Brooke." Sharon gasps as her wife strokes her perfectly, hitting all her spots, and dipping just far enough inside of her opening to be a vicious tease. Two fingers part her folds and rub, stroke, twirl. Brooke shoves her tank top over her breasts, bunching it around her neck and nips at a nipple before soothing it with her tongue. Brooke licks and sucks until Sharon's hips are thrusting rhythmically against her barely moving fingers and her breath is coming in sharp gasps and pants. She takes the hardened bud between her lips and tugs, before bestowing a suckling kiss. She feels Sharon's legs come up to wrap around her and hands fist in her hair, holding her mouth in place. She raises her eyes to study Sharon, she is flushed and glowing, lips parted and swollen from their rough kisses, chest littered with little bruises and love bites and her eyes are squeezed shut. Brooke feels a warmth pulse between her legs; Sharon is gorgeous and it's been too long since they've come together this way. She has been craving this, too, because she has other lovers but it isn't like this with anyone else. It's never as good with another partner as it is with Sharon.
She enters her swiftly, with three fingers, relishing the tightness of Sharon's sex and the rippling of her stomach muscles as her body accepts Brooke again. Sharon screams as she is filled, the stretch hard and heavy and almost painful and so good, so exactly what she needs to erase the feel of Brenda from inside of her. And it feels good, it feels right, and her body reacts like it always has to Brooke's knowledgeable touch, the kind of touch one can only achieve after decades of intimate familiarity with the intricacies of Sharon's body. She pants and gasps and cries out as Brooke's fingers twist and scissor and thrust deeply inside, the burn in her muscles creating an answering throb in her belly.
"Yes." Sharon moans, rocking with the pace Brooke sets, letting her hips crest and dip with Brooke, their bodies falling easily into the rhythm they have known for so long.
"Good baby?" Brooke asks, stroking over Sharon's clit and Sharon flutters around her fingers.
"Good." She whispers, pulling Brooke up into a searing kiss. Sharon kisses Brooke hard, desperately. She is forcing her body to lose itself in Brooke, but her mind can't let go. It's good, but it isn't right. The fingers moving inside of her are a little shorter and a little thicker than the ones Sharon has been imagining and the breasts that press into her own are half a cup size too small. Her body seizes and shivers as Brooke pinches her clit, stimulating the neglected bud and Sharon feels her nails. The hands her body craves don't have nails that long. Sharon squeezes her eyes shut tighter as if she can block out the mental image of long blonde hair and pouty lips. She forces Brooke's fingers deeper inside of her and they crook automatically, rubbing against that ridged wall deep inside and stars explode behind Sharon's eyes. She shivers wildly, gasping and shuddering and desperately reaching for her climax. It's there, deep within her body, she can feel it. It's building with every drop of sweat that trails between her exposed breasts. Then the heat of Brooke's mouth travels down her body, dragging her tongue over Sharon and tasting her skin. Never breaking the sharp thrusts of her fingers, she settles her mouth over Sharon's clit, teasing it with little flicks of a warm, moist tongue. Sharon's body remembers Brenda's long, slow licks and it aches. Brooke teases the spot inside of her with just the right pressure and Sharon thinks of Brenda's soft, tentative exploration, the way she discovered Sharon's body. Brooke rubs firmer and Sharon cries out, heat spasming deep in her hips. Brooke finally takes her nub between her lips and sucks. "Come for me." She husks, moaning against Sharon's sex, bathing her with those delicious vibrations.
Sharon's hips thrust up sharply, she moans and pulls Brooke's hair, her muscles seize and she is right on the edge…right there…one more…Brooke's fingers curl and it is heavy in her pelvis, aching to be released… "Harder…deeper….yes…" She's riding Brooke's fingers with abandon, taking everything, desperately trying to ignore the echoes of Brenda's voice. "More," She chokes out, so ready, she's close, she…
Can't. Sharon can't come. She's poised on the very edge, the very tip, the precipice of her pleasure, but she can't tip over. It's pulsing in her sex and every nerve ending is on fire, but she can't. She furrows her brow in concentration, focusing on the rock of her hips and the deep pulls of Brooke's mouth. But it won't happen. She is looking into her body to see the explosion of pleasure and sees only Brenda's big brown eyes, watering with tears when they said good bye. She impales herself on Brooke's fingers violently; she doesn't want to see this, she can't take this. Brenda's warm smile, the flush of her skin, the nervous way she bit her lip when Sharon saw her naked for the first time. "Please." She begs, voice breaking, and she doesn't know if she's begging for Brooke to keep going or for these torturous images to stop. Brenda between her legs, touching her gently and kissing her softly, the warm wet of Brenda's sex on her face. "Please." She can't, she can't, it has to stop. She needs to come, she needs to wash all this away. She needs her orgasm.
Something in her wife's voice draws Brooke's awareness and she blinks out of the haze of her own lust, distracted by Sharon's slick softness and her delicious flavor coating her tongue again. She looks up and frowns; her lover looks almost like she is hurting. Brooke immediately gentles her fingers, stroking them softly and shallowly in Sharon's clenching body. But evidently it wasn't about her penetration because when the change registers, Sharon's eyes fly open, panicked. "No!" She cries out, alarmed. "Don't stop, don't stop, please don't stop!" That tenderness is too much like Brenda, too much like her inexperienced discovery and she can't handle that.
Sharon sounds like she's choking, like she's drowning and Brooke thrusts a little firmer, trying to find a happy medium between too much and not enough. Sharon thrashes above her, trying to get her fingers deeper and Brooke has never seen her like this. She strokes softly over her hips and pelvis.
"It's okay." She coos softly. "It's okay. Sharon it's okay darling." She presses a series of soft kisses to the rise of pelvis. "You're alright." She murmurs, feeling the twitching muscles relax under her mouth. She murmurs soothing nonsense against Sharon's belly.
Sharon pants and trembles with unfulfilled pleasure. Her body is sharp and too sensitive; she feels like every nerve has been frozen out in the cold and is now thawing in the warmth and prickling with sensation.
She tenses when Brooke's mouth returns to her center, waiting for it to hurt somehow, but it doesn't. Brooke is soft and sweet, licking and kissing lightly. And light is different from tender so it doesn't remind her of Brenda too much. She relaxes into the warmth of Brooke's mouth and feels Brooke smile against her. "That's it," She encourages, rewarding Sharon with a stroke to the side of her clit. She mewls softly. Brooke knows it's hard for Sharon to let go sometimes, to separate her mind from her body and it took them years of practice for Brooke to be able to get her to that place, where she abandons her thoughts and her control. But Brooke will get her there tonight, she is determined. She starts a slow rhythm with her fingers, pressing gentler but deeper and probing behind Sharon's bone with her fingers, curling them to trace the shape of her inside and rub against her soft, spongy walls. Sharon called her tonight, needed her tonight and Brooke will not disappoint her.
Sharon melts into this, biting her lip and forcing herself to relax. She unclenches her thigh muscles and lets her legs fall open, offering as much of herself to Brooke as she can.
"I know what you need." Brooke whispers and with a final soft suck to Sharon's clit, she pulls her fingers from their tight sheath and slides off the bed. Sharon whimpers, body acutely aware of the abrupt absence of touch. She blinks her eyes open and sees Brooke bending down and rummaging through her bottom drawer.
"No!" The word, roughened and sex soaked, is out of her mouth before she can stop it. Brooke is reaching for her strap on, because she knows her so well, but she can't, they can't do that tonight. Sharon feels the panic begin to creep up again. Besides for Brenda, Brooke is the only other woman Sharon has ever let take her with a strap on and she knows that's what Brooke thinks she needs right now.
Brooke turns to look at her, eyes wide with disbelief at the panic in her lover's voice. She is shaking her head Brooke's brow furrows. Sharon used to love this.
Sharon can't explain, she just can't. She meant to throw the toy out, really she did. She and Brenda are over, they'll never use that toy again and Sharon meant to seal that mental commitment by throwing the whole entire thing, even the straps, in the trash. And then she just…didn't. She won't use it again with a different woman, Sharon thinks that's just so…déclassé. But she couldn't bring herself to get rid of it, not when it had been inside of the Chief's body. It's sentimental and foolish, she knows, but she isn't strong enough to give up those little fantasies. Not when running her fingers over the leather is enough to conjure up a picture perfect image of Brenda beneath her and Brenda moving inside of her for the first time, eyes wide with surprised delight. She caresses the shaft of that toy and sees all the things she never got to do with Brenda, all the positions they never tried. She sees the beautiful line of Brenda's back, the curves of her ass as Sharon moves inside of her from behind; she knows how good that would feel for Brenda, how it would stimulate every one of her secret spots. She sees Brenda riding her, gorgeous breasts bouncing as Sharon holds her hips and guides her body. She envisions them tangled together, wrapped in each other's arms and pressed together, intimately joined and rocking and her body hums, throbs, aches with the threat of orgasm from Brooke's attentive touching and her fantasies of Brenda. Suddenly she can't even look at her ex-wife; suddenly her shame is too much.
Brooke deflates, letting the toy fall from her fingertips. Oh, Sharon, she thinks, watching her ex-wife curl up on her side. Oh, my sweet beautiful Sharon. She pads softly on bare feet back to the bed and it dips gently with her weight. She rests a hand on the curve of Sharon's spine, testing the woman's reaction to her touch. She learned during their marriage that sometimes, when Sharon is emotional like this, she prefers to be left alone. But her tension melts away under Brooke's palm and she chokes out a single sob, the only one she will allow herself. Brooke's heart surges in her chest and she wraps her arms around Sharon's half naked body, blanketing her in her warmth. She tugs the comforter up over them and nuzzles the back of Sharon's neck, lavishing the skin with kisses. She feels Sharon press back against her, seeking more contact and Brooke holds her tighter. "It will be okay, darling." She whispers softly. "I'm here." And she will be, for as long as Sharon needs her.
Brenda is twisting in the sheets of her bed, flopping on her back, only to itch on some undefined part of her body and tug at the material as she rolls onto her side. Ten seconds…twenty…maybe thirty seconds later and she is huffing and curling up on her other side. Fritz sighs from beside her. "Brenda?" He sounds just a little bit exasperated, which is understandable as she has been tossing and turning for almost an hour. She fights the urge to snap at him to go sleep in the guest room if he doesn't like it. She can't get comfortable, she can't settle.
"What?" She demands hotly and instantly feels bad. It's not his fault; it's not her husband's fault that her skin is too loose and her pajamas are too tight and it's too hot in this entire stupid city.
"Is it the case?" He asks, turning on his side to face her and she blows her hair out of her eyes, staring at the ceiling.
"The case is fine." She says, trying not to sound like she is a second away from literally biting his head off. It isn't a lie; the case is fine. It's horrible, a dead UCLA upperclassman that had been accused of violent fraternity hazing only a week before he turned up dead on the beach, but the investigation is coming along at least. They've got some leads and it's one of those that will just fall into place, she knows it. The murder was up close and personal and vengeful and that kind of rage doesn't stay buried for long. They just have to traipse the winding path and it will eventually lead them to their killer. It was the second time she had seen Shar-Captain Raydor. The woman was no less beautiful, no less stunning, no less breathtakingly gorgeous than the last time Brenda saw her, except this time her hair was windswept from standing on the beach and Brenda had never seen it like that. Fritz reaches out to rest a warm, comforting hand on her stomach, stroking with his thumb. The touch jolts her and not in a good way. Her stomach is too sensitive, too unsettled from the roiling guilt churning in her gut to take being touched there. She vaults out of bed and Fritz sighs.
"Brenda-" She knows what he is going to say-that he misses her, that he wants to know what's wrong, that they haven't made love in weeks. She knows it all and she just can't. Somehow, it feels like making love with Fritz now would be cheating on him even worse, would cement what she did with Sharon.
"I'm just gonna have some ice cream." She finds herself saying. "Get some sleep, Fritzi." She wraps her arms around herself and turns away from him. She can't look in his eyes, his warm kind brown eyes. Not when Sharon's green orbs darkened with lust are imprinted on her brain.
Brenda licks the spoon clean of strawberries and cream ice cream. She grabs a sugar cookie and meanders through her darkened house. She couldn't buy chocolate ice cream, not when the cocoa flavor wouldn't be imbued with the taste of Sharon's skin; it just wouldn't be good enough. Absently, Brenda boots up her computer, brushing the crumbs off of her tank top. She stares mindlessly as the screen as it loads; she's oddly listless, weirdly empty, like she's just donated a pint of blood and now her body is depleted. She pulls up google and it occurs to her suddenly that this almost exactly the position she had found herself in after her first time with Sharon. She smiles a little bit to herself at the memory; her body had been aching pleasantly, throbbing just with the thought of what she and Sharon had done and she had felt delightfully wicked just knowing what she was about to search. Brenda scrolls through her search history, kind of shocked that she hadn't thought to delete it, and feels her lips quirk up at the titles. "Lesbian sex" and "lesbian sex tips" and "lesbian erotica" and one bar even reads "lesbian strap on." That must have been after her third glass of wine. Her mouse pauses on the delete button before moving, almost of its own accord, over the search terms. She shouldn't, she really shouldn't. Her husband is in the next room and this part of her life is over. She bites her lip. She can't help but think of soft skin and feminine curves and lush hair and full lips and round breasts. She clicks before she can stop herself. She scrolls down the page, skimming over titles about lesbian kisses and lesbian first times and lesbian sex and her body flushes with arousal, tingles with heat. She is a part of this now, this world that didn't get to explore nearly enough with Sharon. She reaches the bottom of the page and drags a hand through her hair. The movement feels so much like what Sharon is always doing that it makes her heart clench. She sees a link for a lesbian chat room and it may be a stupid idea, but she misses Sharon and suddenly the weight of her loneliness is far too heavy on her shoulders for her to bear alone.
Once she clicks the link it's easy to type in her email address and set up a phony handle. She answers all the questions about her appearance and religious affiliations honestly, she doesn't know why. She saves the line about marital status for last, but eventually just leaves it blank. It doesn't matter at this point anyway. And then she's logged on, in a little chatroom where colorful text is flying by and some of these women seem to actually know each other. Brenda pulls her knees up to her chest and just watches the friendly, flirty banter scroll over her screen for a while, until a little message box pops up in the corner of her screen. She clicks it and a dialog box pops up. She raises her eyebrows at the message.
Hey there. I haven't seen you here before. Welcome. Brenda's cursor hovers over the woman's handle: . Brenda's mind immediately thinks of the acronym for assistant district attorney, but that's probably just because she works too much. Her fingers twitch and she finds she has clicked on the little name, bringing her to the woman's profile. She seems relatively normal and there aren't any photos of her, which makes Brenda assume she's relatively intelligent and not stupid enough to post photos where anyone can see them. The profile says she's in her fifties, older than Brenda, but the same age as Sharon.
Hello. Thanks, I'm new. Says BLJ1234. Brenda winces. She didn't mean to do that. Really, she didn't.
May I ask what brings you by? Brenda should really stop this. Her husband is in the very next room and nothing good can possibly come out of this.
It's a long story. She finds herself typing and she releases a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
Ah, I see. Does this long story have a name? Brenda can't help but smirk a little. The woman is clearly sharp. Mine is Carly, by the way. Brenda frowns a little at that. She wasn't really planning on giving her name, but giving a fake one seems silly.
I'm Brenda. Because she's sure there are enough Brendas with the initials LJ in the United States to confuse the woman enough to prevent her from tracking Brenda down and stabbing her in her sleep if that's what she's after.
Nice to meet you, Brenda. Well, at least the woman has manners.
Nice to meet you, too, thank you. Brenda has no idea what to say now. It was kind of her impression that these online chat rooms jump straight from "hi" to "what are you wearing". Not that that's what she's after, of course. Not at all.
I have time if you want to tell someone your long story, Brenda. Brenda's fingers twitch again and then she is typing, typing without the consent of her brain.
It's complicated. She hedges.
It always is. This woman, Carly, responds. Brenda wonders briefly if it is her real name. She stares at the bar blinking on her screen, waiting for her to start writing. Carly doesn't say anything else, though, just waits. Or maybe she isn't waiting, maybe she is talking to somebody else.
I'm married. Brenda types quickly, sending off the message before she can think better of it. It's better to start with the worst of herself. To a man.
I see. Carly responds almost instantly. Well, straight girls do happen. Brenda has no idea what that means and another message pops up when she doesn't respond. I'm teasing you, Brenda.
I had to look that up. Brenda admits, closing out her other web browser. Straight girls happen, I've never heard it before.
Wow. Carly responds. You really are a newbie to all of this. That makes Brenda stiffen just a little bit because she may be a newbie to lesbian sex, but she made Sharon Raydor scream her name when she fucked her with a strap on, so she will thank everybody not to underestimate her. Though she doesn't suppose she can say all of that to a stranger on the internet. May I ask, was this your first lesbian…experience?
Something prickles along Brenda's neck. Yes. She sends and pauses. And I can't stop thinking about it, about her. Brenda adds quickly and sends because this may be her only opportunity, her only chance to talk about this and she doesn't want to blow it.
Do you care about her? Or was it only sex? If Brenda was in her right mind, not in a Sharon-deprived state of near insanity, she probably would have been damn offended, but as she is now, alone and guilt-ridden, the questions open the floodgates she has been holding back for weeks.
I care about her very much. She types quickly. She has my back more than anybody else and she's loyal and sweet and so wonderful to me. But we work together and I'm her boss, kind of, and we agreed we needed to end things and go our separate ways now before it got to be too late. Brenda quickly sends the message and continues typing. But she's all I think about and I feel horribly guilty for cheating on my husband because he really is a good man and I love him very much and I'm straight. Brenda breathes deeply, her chest feeling lighter than it has in weeks, the vise around her lungs easing slightly. She looks at what she's written and thinks it's all pretty absurd, but she can breathe again so she doesn't really care.
I see. Carly responds. That seems complicated. Brenda almost laughs. It sounds complicated to her now? And Brenda didn't even tell her that she might go to jail. Can I ask you a question? Brenda blinks.
Ok.
If you're straight, what are you doing on here? Brenda blinks again. She blinks twice. Well, what…what the hell kind of question is that? The words stare at her accusingly from her computer screen and she becomes more and more infuriated as she realizes she doesn't have an answer.
I don't want to call her. Brenda hadn't realized she'd been typing and as she looks at her response she realizes it might be true. She can't break down, she can't give in to what her body is demanding of her and turn up on Sharon's porch again, but she has to do something before she explodes.
Why not? You don't think you two should talk about all these things you're thinking and feeling? This woman suddenly strikes Brenda as kind foolish. She's been alive for a very long time and she has learned to never ever talk about thoughts and feelings. They make things complicated. Or because you don't trust yourself to resist temptation? Brenda sucks in a breath. Maybe this woman isn't a fool after all.
I don't trust myself. Brenda admits. I have some...craving control issues. Brenda almost laughs at that understatement.
What are you craving, Brenda? Brenda's eyes widen as images appear behind her eyes. Tell me instead of her. Get it out, get it off your chest. Say everything you can't say to her so you don't break down and pick up your phone. Brenda realizes the second she finishes reading the message that she has been had, played. This woman had been guiding their conversation to this point from the very beginning and Brenda has conducted too many interrogations not to know when she is witnessing a master at work. And Brenda is too smart a woman not to realize she let herself be led; she maybe wanted to end up here, just a little bit. Are you craving her touch? That breaks the last of Brenda's laughably tenuous resolve.
Yes. She types, her breath hitching in her chest as her body remembers Sharon's hands. And her kiss. She has the softest lips. If she's going to do this, she might as well do it right.
Where did she kiss you? Brenda gasps and flushes hot at the thought of everywhere on her body Sharon's lips caressed.
Everywhere. She types almost mindlessly, her skin tingling with the memories. She kissed me all over.
Your lips? They prickle with the memory.
Yes. Brenda licks over them.
Your neck?
Yes.
Your breasts? Brenda bites her lip against a whimper at the memory of Sharon's lips pulling at her nipple, teeth worrying the bud, tongue flicking.
Yes. Her hands are shaking.
Where else did she kiss you Brenda? Carly is going to make her say it, she knows, just like Sharon would and Brenda's breathing gets even more labored at that thought.
My stomach and my hips. Because she can tease, too.
Mm-hm, your curves. And just seeing the word "curves" makes her think of Sharon's deliciously feminine body. Where else?
My legs, the insides of my thighs. Brenda feels her inner thighs chafe, rubbing against the fabric of the chair as she shifts.
Your skin is so sensitive there.
She kissed between my thighs. Brenda sends the message before she can lose her nerve and it might not be as sexy as she wanted it to be, but thinking about it is enough to send a flash of heat to that very place on her body.
Tell me, Brenda. The woman keeps using her name, writing it, and Brenda can't help but imagine Sharon's husky voice caressing the syllables. Tell me how she kissed you there, tell me what you can't stop thinking about.
Her tongue. Brenda types, powerless to stop herself now. This is wrong and risky and forbidden but for the first time in weeks her body is thrumming with positive energy.
What did she do with her tongue? Brenda bites her lip against a moan at the thought of all the things Sharon did do with that wonderful muscle. Her nipples peak under the flimsy material of her top, straining for Sharon's moist tongue and she is wet. She is wetter than she has been since the last time Sharon touched her.
She licked me. The words are stark and raw and real on the screen in front of her and they set Brenda on fire. Her core twitches, pulses, and she feels her wetness coating her thighs. It's lewd and true and so fucking hot.
And you liked that, yes? The words blinking at her draw Brenda out of her fantasy and her body clenches around nothing but she feels the fluttering of her sex.
It felt so wonderful. She was so soft with me. It doesn't even feel like her who is typing these words.
That's the best thing about being with a woman-how soft and gentle she is. Brenda warms at the thought of Sharon's tenderness, at how intimately she knows these things about other women.
Yes. Brenda agrees. The way she licked and kissed me, it was like she knew how she was making me feel. Her body shudders. She lit me up.
Did you taste her, too? She actually groans at this question, sharp stabs of arousal pulsing between her legs. She licks her lips, although they are clean, in remembrance of Sharon's flavor exploding on her tongue. Her musky sweetness, tangy and earthy and warm, the sticky slick moisture melting in her mouth. Her mouth waters, aching to bury itself in Sharon's sex again.
She tasted better than chocolate.
Are you turned on right now, Brenda?
Yes. I'm so turned on it hurts. I ache.
What are you thinking about that's making you so aroused? Brenda pauses. She doesn't know if she can do this, say the words the way she wants to, the way she feels them, but she knows she has to try. Her sex is throbbing and heavy and she needs this.
I'm thinking about her inside of me with her fingers. Another weight lifts from her shoulders as her muscles remember the wonderful feel of Sharon entering her.
How many fingers?
Three. Brenda responds automatically. Rubbing and stroking and thrusting deep inside of me. Looking at me like my body is the best thing she's ever felt. She sends and pauses. I'm thinking about her inside of me with her tongue, licking and tasting and sucking on my clit. The words come easier now, thoughts manifesting and materializing, responding to the little aches all over her body.
What else did you do with her? Carly is giving her a chance to give in to her thoughts, to guide and direct this conversation, and Brenda can't help but seize the opportunity. She is breathing harshly, panting with the adrenaline and arousal coursing through her.
I sat on her face while I tasted her. She isn't even a little ashamed right now. I fucked her with her strap on and made her scream my name. I let her take me from behind. These are things she didn't even know, things she had only read about, before Sharon. She rode my thigh and came on my skin and held my hands above my head and pressed every inch of her gorgeous body into me. Her breasts feel rounder and full and she cups one without thinking, squeezing the way Sharon did, massaging and rubbing her nipple. Her hips thrust against the chair, the friction so good but not enough and her fingers slip under the hem of her shirt, stroking over her bare belly.
Was it good for you? Feeling her inside of you from behind and writhing underneath you while you made love to her? Did you like her breasts and hips and thighs against your body? Brenda blows out a breath, vision swimming at the erotic words and thoughts assaulting her. She feels sweat start to bead between her breasts.
So good. Electric shocks travel from the nipple she is twisting to deep inside her core. So good. She types again because in her mind, Sharon is teasing her with little kisses and caresses and it is all she can think.
Are you touching yourself right now? Another pulse of moisture twitches from Brenda's core. She is really going to do this.
Yes. My breasts.
Will you tell me about them?
Brenda stares down her own body. They're C cups. Not as big as Sharon's, Brenda thinks. Not as heavy or full cupped in her palms.
What color are your nipples? Brenda looks down; they are the color of Chardonnay in a long stemmed glass after sharing lasagna and chocolate cake.
The color of red wine. She settles on.
Beautiful. Brenda remembers the way Sharon murmured that word against her skin. What did she do to them?
Brenda's thumbs automatically pass over her erect nipples. She caressed and kissed them. She suckled them in her mouth and nibbled on them. Brenda lets her eyes close as she savors the memories. Sharon's mouth was so wet, so warm and so soft. It trailed down her body like she was Sharon's wicked indulgence, tasting every part of Brenda it could reach.
Where is she kissing you now? The woman knows, just like Sharon, she knows. Brenda briefly wonders if this is a female thing, if a woman just knows another woman like this, but then her mind spins dizzily as her fingers brush the sensitive swell of her belly.
My stomach. Brenda manages to type and she swears she can feel Sharon's hair brushing against her hipbones. She always splayed her hands over my hips when she kissed me here. She can feel herself smile as she thinks of Sharon's thumbs stroking her skin. She languishes in her memories, her body feeling every phantom touch. Sharon's lips on her skin, her tongue tasting her, hands caressing, fingertips gently urging her legs apart. Brenda's sex spasms and she pries her eyes open.
Touch yourself, Brenda. Spread your legs and feel. Brenda's hips cant up at the thought of giving in and she slowly slips her hand into the waistband of her pants. She moans when she feels herself, hot and slick and puffy. How do you feel?
I'm so wet. So hot. Just thinking about her makes me wetter than I've ever been. Brenda lets her fingers play in the slick juices coating her folds, spreading her moisture, exciting herself, stroking around her entrance like Sharon would do.
What would she do when she touched you there?
Brenda's hips start to roll against the thumb she brushes over her clit. She would rub me just right. Brenda types hurriedly, desperate to get it all out, to capture exactly how she felt when Sharon made her come so she would always be able to remember, so she could make her body feel it again. Caress and stroke me and tease me until I was begging her for it.
The reply is almost instantaneous. What were you begging her for, gorgeous?
To fuck me. Brenda types savagely, groaning at how sticky her fingers are and feeling her arousal slick the crack of her ass. To go inside of me and touch that spot and be so deep and make me come.
Do it. Comes the simple response. Fuck yourself. Slide two fingers deeply into your body and find your g-spot, like she did. Brenda curls her fingers into a hook immediately, remembering how wonderful it was when Sharon did it. Scissor your fingers and feel how warm you are, how wet and tight and hot and slick and soft. This is what she felt when she was inside of you, when she was looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. Brenda's mouth drops open and she forces her fingers deeper, curving with the contours of herself. Are you inside, Brenda?
She will not remove her hand, she absolutely will not remove her hand and she manages to type with her left, slowly and sloppily. Yres.
Stay there, Brenda. Stay as deep inside of yourself as you can be and stroke your clit. Squeeze your fingers with your muscles, let your body tighten. Wide eyed, and helpless to look away from the screen, Brenda pants and gasps as she starts a rocking rhythm inside of herself.
Harder, Brenda. Carly encourages. Imagine it's her fucking you, pushing in and out of your tight body. Feel her on top of you, her weight and her softness. Brenda whimpers as her skin cries out for Sharon's, for the brush of their breasts and stomachs and the softness of her hair sifting through Brenda's fingers as she nuzzles at her neck. She twists her fingers and pulls them out, just to slam them back in. They're not right, they're too long and thin to be Sharon's fingers; Sharon would feel bigger and fuller inside of her and it's almost like Carly knows. Add another finger, stretch yourself like she would. Rub your clit to help you take her inside of you. Brenda makes a strangled noise. These words are getting to her, steady pulses and contractions of her sex squeezing her fingers and her nipples are hard as diamonds, chafing deliciously against her top. Move with her, ride her fingers and rock with her thrusts. Deeper, Brenda. Harder. Brenda braces herself with one hand and adjusts her hips so she is poised above the fingers buried knuckle deep inside her own core. Her hips shift and writhe, slamming down on her fingers and she squeezes her eyes shut, the image of Sharon floating before them, lips parted and panting against Brenda's cheek, hard nipples catching against her own, skin slicked with sweat and sliding against Brenda's own as she uses all of her amazing body to thrust into her. She moans louder now, surrendering to the promise of bliss warming the base of her spine and settling in the folds against her palm. Sharon is rubbing that spot, her curled fingers filling Brenda so deliciously, deeper than anyone ever has and Brenda feels her wetness trickle onto her hand. She forgets she isn't alone as her mind's eye savors the image of Sharon's thumb circling her clit, taking her nipple between her lips and sucking, marking her with a bruise to her breast. Take all of her. Open to her, to the feeling of her inside of you. Wrap your legs around her and hold her against your body. Thrust up against her, urge her deeper inside. Feel the shocks in your clit as she strokes over it. Brenda can't even see the words with the flashes of light exploding behind her eyes and she throws her head back, palming her breast and furiously thumbing her clit. She's close, so close, all she needs is Sharon to curl her fingers one more time and she will fly apart. She grinds down on her fingers, swiveling her hips, twisting the digits around and she shatters, riding her hand fast and hard and pushing as roughly into her body as she can. The chair squeaks against the floor in time with her powerful rhythm. Her wrist burns, her body contracts, clenches too tight and releases only to clench again, tipping her over the edge of ecstasy. She chokes back a strangled cry, shifting and shaking, every nerve in her skin singing with her orgasm, her sex burning and just now is when Sharon would make her absolutely explode. She tenses, waiting for it, that second wave of shocking pleasure to rip through her, setting her aflame, but it doesn't come. Her clit twinges softly and her fingers slow, her body relaxing. She blinks her eyes open and sees the words she missed. You come so hard, tightening and releasing and holding her deep inside of you, clit swelling against her fingers. Your world centers on the feel of her inside of you, her soft mouth drinking in your cries of pleasure. You cling to her desperately, feeling her slick skin as she moves against you, brushing every inch of your bodies together, stilling inside you as you come around her. She is watching you come undone for her, reaching into your body and pulling every bit of pleasure out of you as she can with firm, hooked fingers.
Brenda's body gives a little twitch, but doesn't re-ignite. Clearly, she's done. She pulls her fingers from herself and cleans them on her pants without thinking. It was good, she came, but not like she came with Sharon. Not like when she was licking Sharon to orgasm and being licked at the same time. She rubs over her clit absently, reading Carly's messages, easing herself down.
Brenda? She startles as she realizes she hadn't been responding.
Yes, I'm here. I just… Oh for Heaven's sake. She can't even say the word.
You came?
Yes.
It was good?
Yes, it was wonderful. Thank you. Brenda doesn't know sex chat etiquette, but she can be polite. Carly would be a good lover, she can tell and her body is humming pleasantly in the aftermath of her release. It isn't sex with Sharon, it isn't what she was really craving, but it's good enough to quell the tide of her desperate need. It will prevent her from doing something stupid.
You're welcome.
Brenda bites her lip. She doesn't really want to, but she feels she has to offer. I could…reciprocate. She blushes, despite herself.
You don't have to. Well, Brenda thinks that's chivalrous of her. Are you going to call her?
No. Brenda answers immediately and she realizes she isn't. Not tonight anyway.
Well then I'm glad I could help. Brenda raises an eyebrow. She has absolutely no idea what to make of that. I hope that you get things straightened out, no pun intended, and that everything works out for you.
Thank you. Brenda responds because she has no idea what else to say. And if her arms are aching to wrap around Sharon's warm body, she studiously ignores it.
If you ever want to chat again, feel free to message me on here.
I think I might just do that. Brenda is probably lying. Thank you so much for tonight, it was lovely. And just what I needed.
You're welcome. I'll be around, beautiful Brenda. I hope to talk to you again. And then she is gone, Brenda left staring at the transcript of their chat. Her cheeks flame at the filthy, dirty words that made her so hot, so aroused, so liable to fuck herself hard enough that she is aching. She feels a sudden urge to save it on her computer; it is her confession and she imagines this is how a murderer must feel after signing his statement. She doesn't feel guilty, though, because she and Sharon aren't together. Her body twinges. It isn't cheating and Fritz, well, it isn't like this is the most unfaithful thing she has ever done to him. She drags a hand through her hair, suddenly exhausted. She doesn't recognize herself, this woman she has become, this foolish wreck of a woman who has no idea what to do with herself. But her skin doesn't feel like it's burning and stinging anymore.
She pours a glass of water and takes a long sip before padding back into the bedroom where Fritz is sleeping soundly and obliviously. Suddenly, she swears she can smell her own scent, the scent of her musky arousal. The spot on her pants where she wiped her come from her fingers feels heavy against her thigh. Her ears still ring with Sharon's husky voice telling her to come. She swallows against a wave of sickening dread that rises violently in her stomach. She can't do this; she can't curl up in bed with Fritz for another night imagining Sharon's arms around her. She can't pretend she didn't just have cyber sex with a female stranger while thinking about her subordinate officer. She fights back tears as she looks at her husband, the man who has always loved and stood by her and is ashamed of her own selfishness. She wipes at her eyes before grabbing their spare blanket and padding to the couch.