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

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,” he says. “I told the waiters to

mouthful of food, I suppress a squeal as

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

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

he speaks. The fingers probing inside me are sending electric

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

wiping his hand on the immaculate

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

My pasta?

Ohhhh…… Godddddd….

*****

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

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

he agrees, “but it’s a lovely evening for a

I say, feeling warm and happy; tingling with arousal and the pleasant anticipation of

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

just hear

and turning to face him, “I think I

back to the

panic. “But we’re parked in a

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

don’t get arrested in the clubs. It’s

slowly. Give the sun chance to go down,

the car,

Master’s?…

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

me.

hard, heart hammering and pussy

the car

still warm from the

to my hips. My panties are worthless; soaked and sagging, and he tugs them down behind

my 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 you. I wanted you very wet, and you’re

quivering skin. As I whimper, behind me there is the rasp of a

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

could see