Choosing Her Lover

*****

The performance over, and….

Did I see any of that….?

“I booked us a table at Luigi’s,” he says. “Is that alright? You like Italian?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Good. I made sure we would have a nice, intimate little spot, away from the eyes of the crowd.”

?????

What the hell’s he planning now?

The table is indeed ‘intimate’, tucked into a corner, away from the main body of the restaurant, and screened off by a wooden lattice and potted palms. We are, in a sense, visible from the main restaurant, but only to someone looking closely in.

We sit together, he holding out my chair to seat me. I’m unused to this kind of courtesy, but am beginning to take it for granted from Ryan.

What I have not started to take for granted is….

“They do a pesto spaghetti which is particularly good,” he remarks. “The basil grows in their own gardens at the back, and they make the pesto themselves.”

“You sound as though you know them well?”

“My mother is related to the chef.”

“You’re Italian?”

“Part Italian.”

“And the other part?”

“With a name like Dougherty? The other half’s Irish.”

“Who am I to argue with an Irish pasta expert? I’ll have the pesto spaghetti.” I say to the waiter.

“And I’ll have the same.”

The meal is, as promised, delicious, and I whirl coils of pasta around my fork. Sucking in the tail-end of one forkful, I startle as, below the table-cloth, my thighs are penetrated once more.

is a

eat spaghetti while I finger you.” he chuckles, one-handedly scooping and winding brilliantly green noodles. He glances around our cubicle. “I like

in and up, and through my mouthful of food, I

by the earthquake in my flesh, I judder against the penetrating, delicious, invading,

you good and expectant for later when I get

probing inside me are sending electric shocks pinging through to my clit. My hips

me again, working my inner muscles all the while “You’re still not

that, he pulls free, wiping his hand on the

napkin, talking behind it. “You’re drenched, Kirstie. Wonderful.

My pasta?

Ohhhh…… Godddddd….

*****

the river bridge from the Old City to the New, where Ryan’s

to park so far out,” I say. “It’s quite a long

“but it’s

it is,” I say, feeling warm and happy; tingling with arousal and the pleasant

besides,” he continues, “I picked a quiet spot because I’m going to bend you over the bonnet,

I just

say, halting and turning to face him, “I think

think so.” he smiles. “When we get back to the car, I’m

we’re parked

there. You can see out, but they can’t see in. And besides,” he gives me a cool look, “if I understand aright,

in the clubs.

Give the sun chance to

the car, I consider my

Master’s?…

extreme far corner of the parking lot, partially hidden by shrubs, and well away from any street lights. The setting sun is blushing shadows over the spot, and the

me.

hammering and pussy

car

I turn and lie over the bonnet, still warm from the dregs of

my skirt up to my hips. My panties are worthless; soaked and sagging, and

fingers inserting. “That’s good, Kirstie. I wanted to make you wait, to make you think about what I’m going to feel like inside you.

drawing fingernails over sensitised and quivering skin. As I whimper, behind me there is the

opening me up. His cock is huge and warm and deliciously hard, and my hot cunt vibrates in welcome, clutching and clenching at the

anyone could see