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

He glances around our cubicle. “I like it here,” he says. “I told the waiters to give us plenty of privacy and,” he nods towards the trellis and plants,

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

in my flesh, I judder against the penetrating, delicious,

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

long. My already swollen pussy is unfurling as he 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

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

pulls free, wiping his hand

dabs at his mouth with the napkin, talking behind it. “You’re drenched, Kirstie. Wonderful. How’s your

My pasta?

Ohhhh…… Godddddd….

*****

river bridge from the

why you had to park so far out,” I

it’s a lovely evening for

it is,” I say, feeling warm and happy; tingling with arousal and the pleasant anticipation of arriving back at

picked a quiet spot because I’m going to bend you

just

turning to face him, “I

don’t think so.” he smiles. “When we get back to the car, I’m going to fuck you

parked

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 with an audience,

get arrested in the clubs. It’s still daylight,

walk slowly. Give the sun chance to

car, I consider

Master’s?…

by shrubs, and well away from any street lights. The

me.

hammering and pussy aching, I obey

turn to face the car and bend forward, hands outstretched

turn and lie over the bonnet, still warm from

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

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

drawing fingernails over sensitised and quivering skin. As I

he pushes inside my pulsing pussy, thrusting a few times as he finishes opening me up.

anyone could see