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.

My voice is a strangled

winding brilliantly green noodles. He glances around our cubicle. “I like it here,” he says. “I told the waiters to give us plenty of privacy and,” he nods towards the trellis and plants, “no-one else can see what

of food, I suppress a squeal as

the penetrating, delicious, invading, electric fingers, struggling

food, but I want you good and expectant for later when I get my cock

as he speaks. The fingers probing inside me are sending electric shocks pinging through to my clit. My hips quake and jerk and he

again, working my inner muscles all the while “You’re still not coming yet. But this is your last appetiser. You get the

with that, he pulls free, wiping his hand on the immaculate white

at his mouth with the napkin, talking behind it. “You’re

My pasta?

Ohhhh…… Godddddd….

*****

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

don’t know why you had to park so far out,” I say.

agrees, “but it’s a lovely evening

with arousal and the pleasant

he continues, “I picked a quiet spot because I’m going to

I just hear

turning to face him, “I think I

smiles. “When we get back to the car, I’m

beginning to panic. “But we’re parked in a

they can’t see in. And besides,” he gives me a

don’t get arrested in the clubs. It’s

Give the sun chance to go down, because that’s what’s

the car, I consider my

Master’s?…

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.

heart hammering and pussy aching,

car and bend

still warm from the dregs of

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

sex, 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

over sensitised and quivering skin. As I whimper, behind me

he finishes opening me up. His cock is huge and warm and deliciously hard, and

anyone could