Julie slid off the bed and quietly left the room.
The action on Debbie’s bed at 27 Back Street had been suspended for sustenance. An Indian takeaway delivered, they were sitting around the small table in the kitchen. Natasha hardly felt any effect from the champagne. The two girls though were well gone, although Natasha suspected that Barrie in her body was putting it on a bit as an excuse to flirt outrageously with Debbie. He was now asking her how many more times she could expect to come throughout the night and was a proper cock better than a vibrator. Debbie giggled a lot and there was a lot of fondling, followed by one or other of them ducking under the table to see if it was having any effect on Barrie’s penis; which it was.
The girl’s were wearing Debbie’s bathrobes, which were so sheer, they might as well not have bothered. Natasha had wrapped a towel around Barrie’s waist, which was totally inadequate. After the third bottle of champagne, the decision was made to stay the night. Barrie’s shirt and socks were in the washer dryer and his suit was hanging on the rack in the fitting room. Natasha suddenly felt a hand on the base of Barrie’s penis. There was giggling beneath the table and another hand caressed the head. Then a hand appeared over the edge of the table, felt around, found the yoghurt they had used to cool the fire of the Vindaloo. The carton disappeared. There was more giggling and she felt the cool yoghurt spreading over Barrie’s ever stiffening penis. A tongue licked at the underside of the head, another around his testicles. She couldn’t tell which was which, but it was extremely pleasant. Then it stopped and first Debbie, then her own body, bobbed up alongside the chair and took hold of Barrie’s elbows. She could very easily have remained seated, they would never have been able to lift Barrie’s bulk, but she joined in their game.
They led his body over to the rush matting where she eased his body down onto his back. She watched as Barrie took the lead by pushing a handful of yoghurt into her vagina. Debbie needed no encouragement to follow suit. She giggled. ‘It’s cold.’
Barrie knelt her body in front of her and licked off a mouthful with a single swipe of her tongue. He turned to grin at her.
‘The object of the game is to lick off all the yoghurt,' Debbie smirked as she added. ‘Sorry about having to use the mat, but I have a no food rule in my bed.’
‘Mr Duggie, how nice to see you.’ Roberto was genuinely pleased to see Duggie Lummox. It had been too long, he used to be a regular; at least once a week, until his wife tragically developed cancer and died. It was all so quick. Roberto was a romantic soul; he could tell there was something special between Mr Duggie and his beautiful companion, so he led them to the back of the restaurant and his special table, screened from prying eyes by a trellis work of plastic flowers. It was his table for lovers. He kissed the back of Penny’s hand when they were introduced, pulled out a chair for her and lit the single candle, with a flourish, stood back and beamed at them
‘Mr Duggie, Signorina Penny, we have some wonderful specials this evening, but before you choose, please, have a bottle of my best a champagne – on a the house.’ Duggie smiled a smile, which was not quite as yellow as usual. ‘You really shouldn’t Roberto, but thank you, we will drink to your health.’
On his way back to the front of the restaurant, Roberto surreptitiously removed the reserved sign from Mr and Mrs Duggie’s favourite table. That would have been a big mistake. He returned with a bottle of champagne and three glasses, removing the cork, with a satisfying pop he filled the glasses and twisted the bottle into an ice bucket which appeared at his elbow. He raised his glass in a toast. ‘To you both and a warm a welcome to you Signorina Penny, I hope a to see you many times in a my little restaurant.’
They were on the antipasto when a waiter showed two women to the table on the other side of the screen. One of the women was loud and well spoken. Duggie peered through the screen, she looked vaguely familiar. The other woman he recognised, which was quite a coincidence as, having agreed not to discuss work, they were talking about the Rugby Club. He put a finger to his lips, took a scrap of paper from his wallet and scribbled – 'the blonde is Peter Bunford’s wife'. Penny nodded, turned the paper over and wrote – 'Don‘t know either of them. How about a shag?' Duggie read her message, smiled and whispered. ‘It’s only 15 minutes to my place, but there’s the main course to come and Roberto’s tiramisu is too good to miss.’ Penny pouted like a spoilt child and replied loudly. ‘Don’t want tiramisu – want a shag.’ Duggie winced and peered through the screen. Julie Bunford and her companion were holding hands, oblivious to anyone else in the restaurant. Penny followed his gaze, took the paper back and wrote – 'They’re lesbians. I still want a shag.'
Roberto arrived with the Barolo to accompany the Veal Milanese. Plates and dishes were quietly and efficiently brought to the table by waiters who took their lead from Roberto. As the waiters silently moved away, Penny smiled at Duggie, curled her long fingers around the pepper pot and moved them in a way which produced an instant reaction in Duggie’s trousers. He leant towards her. ‘We could skip the tiramisu.’ She laughed and he stopped wondering what Julie Bunford was playing at.
‘Oh, for god’s sake Julie, stop moaning about Travel Plan. It’s history.’ The comment rose above the general hubbub in the restaurant causing Penny and Duggie to stop mid sip as they drank a toast with the excellent Barolo. Penny put her glass down, reached for her handbag and took out her shorthand notebook. The conversation on the next table revealed everything Duggie wanted to know.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
Peter Bunford had suspected Julie wasn’t happy for a sometime, but it never occurred to him that his wife might prefer women. Last evening though, she had made it very plain she had found her true sexuality. In hindsight he could recognise the signs, but that made no difference, it was pointless trying to persuade her to change her mind. She was obviously happy to be a lesbian and the way she had spoken about it left little doubt she had shared a sexual experience with Lucy, her partner in the cleaning business. Following her news, he decided not to say anything about leaving Meltcon and working at the rugby club, it was none of her business now. What did worry him was how he was going to break the news of his leaving to Lydia. He squatted down to place a hand on a bearing casing. Jeez! He snatched his hand away; the casing was red hot! Niggard was pushing hard for extra production, but, like it or not, the line had to be shut down.
Simon Niggard was drooling over his figures on the computer. Only 4.30am, and he had smashed the shift target. The 90 minutes to the end of the shift would give him an unassailable lead. The Production Director’s position was as good as his. No one could match his record.
It took several seconds for the silence to register. He looked out through the window. The line had stopped! That idiot Bunford was walking down the line from the power breaker. Flinging open the office door he screamed at him. ‘Bunford! My office – now!’