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The gentle sound of the piano completed a near perfect ambiance at the restaurant. The music was never intrusive but just loud enough to be appreciated. The pianist was good, very good in fact; the feint clatter of crockery and muted voices proved to be his only rivals. The minimalist, modern décor and subdued lighting gave a formal but intimate feel to the place. Abbie and Laura were pleased to push the boat out for the occasion.
It took quite a while to share the office gossip, month by month there seemed to be more than ever. And of course Abbie wanted to hear even more detail of Laura’s ‘weekend in the country’ as she called it. She did seem to have a genuine interest what was happening to Laura, and not just in a smutty or crude way. She asked meaningful questions about how she felt, where she saw it going and at what point she might refuse to do as they said. Laura couldn’t decide if she detected a level of sympathy or envy.
The quality of the food surpassed their expectations. As they often did, they shared a starter, not wishing to lose their appetite for the main course. Not that it would have been a problem: as in most of these establishments the portions diminished as the prices increased. The handsome young waiter took away their plates and returned with the desert menu, before once again leaving, giving them ample time to make the difficult decision. Laura chose straight away, the pistachio soufflé. She knew Abbie would be spoiled for choice and would take ages but they were in no hurry. She closed her menu and looked around. There were a couple of free tables but they had been in use earlier, Laura remembered. They were doing well, a full house mid week was impressive.
That distinctive sound caught Laura’s attention. The rasp of nylon against nylon as a woman walked past. The slow graceful walk was emphasized by the feint clicking of heels on the grey slate floor. Since the introduction of Weston’s rules Laura had worn stockings on a regular basis but she knew she wouldn’t capture attention like that woman did. She knew what she was doing, and she did it so well. Placing one leg right in front of the other like a model caused the thighs to produce a gentle swish which only came with practice, and of course the correct choice of stockings. That harsh rasp needed the best quality nylon.
Her companion, an older woman perhaps in her early forties, followed behind as the waiter directed them to their table. Their elegant dresses certainly hadn’t come from a high street outlet—they were classy women.
Laura watched as the waiter stood behind the younger one’s chair before gently easing it in as she sat. He could only offer the service to one of them so her companion had to seat herself. Interesting to know how he made the choice, Laura thought.
Once seated the woman slowly crossed one leg over the other making the hem of her dress rise to mid thigh. All women like to showcase their best features, naturally, and those legs were probably hers. Laura admired them, shapely and firm all the way down to the slim ankles. She noted how she flipped her shoe, her long leg bouncing up and down very slightly as she talked causing the thin heel to glisten in the soft light.
Laura had little time for frippery but the elegance and grace of the woman certainly grabbed Laura’s attention. She knew how good she looked but had the maturity to present herself in a subtle manner. ‘She’s at home in her skin,’ as Laura’s Grandmother used to say. Laura watched as the lady interacted with the waiter and her companion. She’d had a lot of practice, being a people watcher by nature.
The woman was confident, bordering on arrogant even and that suited her; she had the beauty and probably the intelligence to match. Laura was brought out of her reverie by Abbie. “Hello, are you with us?” Abbie repeated. “I said I’ve decided. Salted chocolate caramel tart.”
“I’m sorry, I was miles away. Good choice.” The ever attentive waiter took the order. Abbie leaned out from the table to watch as he headed for the kitchen.
“Nice arse that one, very nice,” she said, in her usual relaxed manner.
“You shouldn’t be looking at other men in that way.”
“It’s good for me, keeps me mentally alert, besides it’s only window shopping. You must do it, all women do.” Although she didn’t admit it to Abbie, it amused Laura to recall that she had been doing the same thing not two minutes before—with another woman. Talking of which, what were they up to? She discreetly looked over. Their interaction fascinated her. It didn’t seem quite normal but hard to say why not. The younger one was leaning on the table, her chin cupped in one hand. Her older companion held her hands in her lap, her head slightly lowered. Laura likened the pose to that of a child being reprimanded.
The waiter approached the table with the two deserts. “Wow,” Abbie exclaimed, before leaning over to study Laura’s, “do you want to swap a bit, yours looks fab.”
Laura welcomed the arrival of their desert. After trying out each others choice the level of conversation dropped whilst they ate, granting her the opportunity to observe the two women. She tried to discreetly stretch her neck upward to get a better view. The older woman suddenly glanced around the room. Laura quickly averted her eyes and tried not to be caught staring. Desperate to resume looking she strained at the limits of her peripheral vision. The coast was clear, the woman had resumed talking to her companion. The light clatter of a spoon on crockery marked the end of Abbie’s desert.
“That was yummy. I hope Andrew’s as impressed next time you find a piece; I could get used to this,” she said, dabbing around her mouth with the starched napkin.
“Me too. I just hope nothing goes wrong this time.” Abbie started to tell her of the best deserts she had ever eaten and how much they cost. Laura did her best to respond in the correct places and even put a meaningful comment in now and again. She didn’t want to be rude but her attention was elsewhere.
The older one left the table, heading for the door marked ‘Powder Room’, which Laura thought was very tastefully put. Taking a break from prying into other people’s affairs she gave her attention back to Abbie.
“If you mess it up again on Saturday,” Abbie proposed, “we would have to find another of these bishop’s and get another meal out of it. What do you think?”
“I think you’re mad. You know how much is at stake here, and I need to get them quickly.” Abbie decided to continue goading her.
“Oh go on, did you see the steak that man behind you had, it was massive.”
“Yes, and that’s what my backside looked like last time I failed. No thank you. Me and my poor arse would rather you bought your own meals.”
“You’re no fun.”
The younger of the ladies gently dabbed her mouth with a napkin, left the table and headed for the powder room, leaving their table empty. The strange occurrence renewed Laura’s interest in their affairs. Her impatience made the time pass slowly as she waited for their return. Unable to resist any longer she excused herself from Abbie and followed the women, desperate not to miss anything. The short passageway led to only two doors, marked Ladies and Gentlemen, they could not have gone anywhere else. Gingerly pushing open the Ladies door Laura entered the sizeable, plush room. Two sinks set into a marble worktop stood below a huge antique mirror. Facing the mirror were two cubicles one with the door closed, the other empty. Laura felt a surge of excitement pass through her. She knew she was invading their privacy but she couldn’t help herself. They were in there together, they must be. Then she heard the low whimpering noises. Shit! they’re doing stuff—together. She couldn’t believe it. Suddenly becoming aware of how awkward it would be if she got caught prying she turned to the mirror, opened her bag and pretended to reapply her make up. Her eyes didn’t leave the door as her ears strained for every sound. However, the need to strain was decreasing by the second as the whimpers turned to moans and the volume increased. She went into the other cubicle, tempted to stand on the seat to see over the top. No, she couldn’t do that. What if they looked up and saw her, she’d just die from embarrassment. Sitting on the seat she found herself squeezing her thighs together as she idly rubbed between her legs, unashamed of how the incident was turning her on and envious of the pleasure being heard. The noises reached an unmistakable climax, as did one of the women, before gradually reducing in volume and intensity.
While waiting for the women to leave Laura opened the door as quietly as possible, and just a small amount, to sneak a look. She heard the clunk of the bolt being pulled across and the door opening. The younger woman left the cubicle. Through the small gap Laura watched her go to the sink, wash her hands and shake off the excess water. She chose to use a paper towel from the dispenser rather than the hot air blower. She then paused briefly, and used the large mirror to check her hair and make up before returning to the dining area.
Laura stayed in the cubicle, still peeping through the gap in the door. Desperate not to make any sound which would give away her presence, she sat as still as possible and waited. She wanted to see the older woman leave.
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