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

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 give us

my mouthful of food, I suppress a squeal as fingers plunge

the penetrating, delicious, invading, electric fingers, struggling to swallow long

want you good and expectant for later when I get

not going to take too long. My already swollen pussy is unfurling as he speaks. The fingers probing inside me are sending

still not coming

he pulls free, wiping his hand on the immaculate white linen

dabs at his mouth with the napkin, talking

My pasta?

Ohhhh…… Godddddd….

*****

walk back arm in arm across the river bridge from the Old

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

agrees, “but it’s

it is,” I say, feeling warm and happy; tingling with arousal

a quiet spot because I’m going to bend you over the

just hear

turning to

back to the car, I’m going

parked in a

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 often fucked in the clubs

arrested in the clubs. It’s

sun chance to go down,

at the car, I consider

Master’s?…

hidden by shrubs, and well away from any street lights. The setting sun is blushing

me.

hammering and pussy aching, I obey

turn to face the car and bend forward,

bonnet, still warm

hips. My panties are worthless; soaked

to make you wait, to make you think about what I’m going to feel like inside you. I wanted you

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

but he pushes 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 vibrates in welcome, clutching and clenching at

could see