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.

voice is a strangled

eat spaghetti while I finger you.” he chuckles, one-handedly scooping and winding brilliantly green noodles. He glances around our cubicle. “I like it here,” he says. “I told the waiters to give

that, his hand pushes in and up, and through my mouthful of food, I suppress a squeal

in my flesh, I judder against the penetrating, delicious, invading, electric fingers, struggling to swallow long strands of

and

speaks. The fingers probing inside me are sending electric shocks pinging through to

the while “You’re still not coming yet. But this is your

wiping his hand on the immaculate

dabs at his mouth with the napkin, talking behind it. “You’re drenched, Kirstie. Wonderful. How’s your

My pasta?

Ohhhh…… Godddddd….

*****

back arm in arm across the river bridge from the Old City to the New, where Ryan’s car is

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

it’s a lovely evening

with arousal and the pleasant anticipation of

spot because I’m going to bend you over the bonnet, and fuck you til you

just hear

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

smiles. “When we get back to

“But we’re parked in a public place.”

we’re not. We’re parked in the shadows there. You can see out, but they can’t see in. And besides,” he gives me a cool look, “if I understand aright,

get arrested in the clubs. It’s still daylight,

walk slowly. Give the sun chance to

car,

Master’s?…

partially hidden by shrubs, and well away from any street lights. The

me.

hammering and pussy aching, I

the car and bend forward,

and lie over the bonnet, still warm from the dregs

are worthless; soaked and

wait, to make you think about what I’m going to feel like inside you.

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

is still fully dressed in his evening suit, but he pushes inside my pulsing pussy, thrusting a few times as he finishes opening me up. His cock is huge and warm and deliciously hard, and my hot cunt vibrates in welcome, clutching and clenching

could