Choosing Her Lover

Chapter 36

*****

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 strangled

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 us plenty

his hand pushes in and up, and through my mouthful of food, I suppress a squeal as fingers plunge deep, rubbing at

but disabled by the earthquake in my flesh, I judder against the penetrating, delicious, invading, electric fingers, struggling to

it. Enjoy your food, but I want you good and expectant for later when I get my

me are sending electric shocks pinging through to my

inner muscles all the while “You’re still not coming yet. But this

his hand on the

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

My pasta?

Ohhhh…… Godddddd….

*****

arm across the river bridge

so far out,”

he agrees, “but it’s

feeling warm and happy; tingling with arousal and

I’m going to bend you

I just hear

say, halting and turning to face him,

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

beginning to panic. “But we’re parked

they can’t see in. And besides,” he gives me a cool look, “if I understand aright, you’ve often fucked in the clubs with an audience, and enjoyed

in the clubs. It’s still

sun chance to

at the car, I consider

Master’s?…

shrubs, and well away from any street lights. The setting sun is blushing shadows over the spot,

head-points me.

hard, heart hammering and pussy aching, I

turn to face the car

and lie over the bonnet, still warm from

hips. My panties are worthless; soaked and sagging, and he

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

aching pussy lips, drawing fingernails over sensitised and quivering skin. As I

dressed in his evening suit, but he pushes inside my pulsing pussy, thrusting a few times as he finishes opening me

could

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