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

you.” he chuckles, one-handedly scooping and winding brilliantly green noodles. He glances around our cubicle. “I like it here,” he

with that, his hand pushes in and up, and through my mouthful of food, I

judder against the penetrating, delicious, invading, electric fingers, struggling

Enjoy your food, but I want you good and

unfurling as he speaks. The fingers probing inside me are sending electric shocks pinging through to my clit. My

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

that, he pulls free, wiping his

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

My pasta?

Ohhhh…… Godddddd….

*****

back arm in arm across the river bridge from the Old City to the New,

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

“but it’s a lovely evening for a

warm and happy; tingling with

spot because I’m going to

just hear

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

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

to panic. “But we’re parked

in. And besides,” he gives me a cool look, “if I understand

don’t get arrested in the clubs.

walk slowly. Give the sun chance to go down, because that’s what’s going to

the car, I consider my

Master’s?…

parking lot, partially hidden by shrubs, and well away from any street lights. The setting sun is blushing shadows over the spot, and the car is shrouded in shades

me. “Stand

heart hammering and

to face the car and bend forward, hands outstretched

still warm from the dregs of the sunshine, my arms reaching

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

cups my sex, fingers inserting. “That’s good, Kirstie. I wanted to make you wait, to make you think

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

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

anyone could see