”“We can work with that,” I replied. “Or play with that, I guess.”Under the panties, I let my knuckles slide up along the gorgeous wetness o... her lips. When my knuckles brushed past her clitoris, she moaned so loud that I was sure someone would notice, but most other passengers were asleep already.“You like my fingers on your clit,” I observed.She just looked at me with a greedy look as if to say “Of fucking course I do.”By now I could imagine the intensity of what my teasing was building in. Since we all need spiritual guidance all the time ... well you get the drift. Plus there was the fact that, after having the requisite three children, she had a fourth ... and then a fifth ... and then still more, making it obvious that the Miller's engaged in the Catholic practice of birth control - and poorly at that!What those women would see the next time they met with Mother Margaret was a changed woman. She had been broken. She had felt the real and honest guilt of a sinner, who admits. I was stiff; she was ready. Penetration posed a difficulty. The carriage shook and swayed as the train took a curve making standing up unaided impossible. The door was too thin and flimsy to lean against and the side walls too narrow to use them. Lying on the floor was obviously out of the question. This left the back wall, I placed her hands mid way up and raised her skirt. I gently stroked her pussy through the material of the pink panties protecting them. I could feel she was plenty wet. The drive back was peaceful. I drove with the windows down and the radio off, just listening to my thoughts. In the hours since Amy's collapse, I hadn't had much time to think. We did end up going to Davenforth's after all, though none of us ate much. There was just nothing else to do. We didn't want to go home and stare at the four walls. We picked at salads and the girls talked about how wonderful Ron had been, and how broken their hearts were for Amy. Then, once again not knowing what else.