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 strangled

want to see you try to 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,”

up, and through my mouthful of food, I suppress a squeal

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

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

speaks. The fingers probing inside me are sending electric shocks pinging through to my clit. My hips quake and jerk and he smiles edge-ways at

in close to me again, working my inner muscles all the while “You’re still

wiping his

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

My pasta?

Ohhhh…… Godddddd….

*****

bridge from

don’t know why you had to park so

it’s a lovely evening for

I say, feeling warm and happy; tingling with arousal and the pleasant anticipation of arriving back at Ryan’s

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

I just hear

and turning to face him, “I think

he smiles. “When we get back to

beginning to panic. “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, you’ve

in the

sun chance to go

at the car, I consider my

Master’s?…

parking spot; in the 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

head-points me. “Stand

heart hammering and pussy aching, I

face the car and bend

bonnet, still warm from the dregs

My panties are worthless; soaked and sagging, and

wanted to make you wait, to make you think about what I’m

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

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

could