The corruption of Elizabeth
Another week, another pub. It was like being on a protracted pub crawl from one’s youth. The problem was that in one’s youth as long as…
The corruption of Elizabeth 1
Another week, another pub. It was like being on a protracted pub crawl from one’s youth. The problem was that in one’s youth as long as they sold alcohol nothing else was important. Now our needs were more varied. Comfortable chairs, decent wine, and a clientele that would appreciate two attractive middle-aged women displaying themselves.
The pub we had chosen for this week's display looked to be perfect.
The bar was cosy — snug in pub language I suppose — with only a half dozen tables of which four including ours were occupied. The other customers were an ideal mix.
Our timing was immaculate with me driving into the car park behind Lizzie. No Chris to chauffeur us this week as he had something on so we were both driving to avoid one drinking and one abstemious.
We bought our drinks and chose what I hoped was the best table to fit our purposes.
“So,” I began, “you still up for some fun?”
“Gee, Trace you don’t muck about do you? No, ‘How are you?’ or ‘Cold today isn’t it?’ Straight in, straight to the point.” I smiled. I knew she was teasing.
“You really want to waste time on trivia? I can ask about the state of the potholes on the A14 if you wish.” She laughed back at me, “No that’s fine, I’ll answer your first question. Yes, I’m still up for some fun. In fact, I’ve come prepared.”
“Prepared?”
“Yep. I bought, or more accurately, Chris treated me to, a new set of undies including — drum roll — stockings and suspenders!”
“Come on then show me.”
I had expected some initial resistance, that she’d need a glass or two to calm her nerves but I was wrong. She happily and without embarrassment pulled her skirt halfway up her thigh, exposing a fully fashioned stocking top and a red suspender with a metal clasp. Lizzie clearly had a fetish for red lingerie.
“Nice. How does it make you feel? Sexy?”
She laughed as she pulled her skirt back down. “Is that what they’re supposed to do? I guess the stockings do or at least the thought of what men think if they see them does, but the suspenders? Real pain. It’s amazing to think women used to wear them every day. Getting dressed took forever!”
“You’ll get used to them. I don’t feel dressed if I’m not wearing them these days and mine certainly make me feel sexy.” I pulled my skirt up over my crossed legs and bunched it high up my thighs. I had on a white set.
The way the tables were spaced didn’t leave much room between them so my timing proved fortuitous as the man at the next table got up to recharge their glasses. He’d had his back to us but twisted to stand up which meant he had a grandstand view of my legs. I felt the first stirrings of the evening! He momentarily stopped dead at the view but quickly recovered and went for his drinks. His partner, a smart looking woman in her thirties couldn’t see my display from her seat and didn’t appear to notice his hesitation. Lizzie did though. “First blood to you Trace,” she said, as she sipped her wine. That put a thought in my mind. “Fancy making it a competition then? Who gets seen the most?”
“God no. Why enter a competition you know you’d lose? I’m content to watch the master at work.” She did though recross her legs and make no attempt to tug her skirt down leaving a healthy chunk of stocking welt on display.
The man was returning with his drinks but by a different route giving him a longer time walking towards us. With a view. He needed a reward. I uncrossed my legs and left a healthy gap between them. His pace slowed. His eyes widened. Lizzie had seen him too and leant across to me and whispered, “Let’s show him some more and see if he comes to a standstill.” Her hand found the hem of my dress and lifted it.
I was looking at him and smiled. I wanted him to know we knew he was looking. It ratcheted up the horny feeling. He did stop! Only for a moment but he clearly would have loved to have had his feet nailed to the floor. He reluctantly recommenced his journey to his table and sat down but not in the chair he’d vacated. He sat beside the woman he was with so he could see us rather than have his back to us. I turned to Lizzie who had now dropped my skirt hem. “Thank you for that,” I said as facetiously as I could, “most helpful.”
“What are friends for if not to help in time of need?” she replied
“Bear that in mind for the future.”
“Oh. Nothing too extreme please.” Her tone of voice was pleading. The words in my head different. They changed to ‘As extreme as you like. That was horny’.
“What, like this?” As I said the words I put my hand on her knee and dragged her skirt up her leg giving me, and our observant neighbour, a first glimpse of her knickers. They were red, more a thong than knickers. More transparent than opaque. Her triangle clearly visible. She made a half-hearted attempt to stop me and pull the skirt down, a broad smile on her face. “Yes! Exactly like that!”
“You think that was extreme?” I asked. A look of mock horror crossed her face. “Extreme would be worse?”
“No. Better!” My hand had been holding her skirt high up her leg against her thigh. I let go and placed it palm down over her thong. The look of mock horror disappeared to be replaced by a look of real horror, or at least shock. Whether she thought I was about to finger her or pull the thong off I didn’t know. Partly because I hadn’t decided myself.
Physically it would have been easier to finger her. A slight push of the material and I’d be in. To pull them off I’d either have to get her to raise her bum or physically rip them and as they were new I didn’t want to do that. But fingering her. In public. Was that too much? I'd done it last time we were out but then Chris was there and we didn’t have such an attentive audience. The man was now staring, not attempting to hide his interest. Would that put Lizzie off? Or encourage her as it did me?
