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

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 plenty of privacy and,” he nods towards the trellis

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

my flesh, I judder against the penetrating, delicious, invading, electric fingers, struggling to swallow long

your food, but I want you good and expectant for

My already swollen pussy is unfurling as he speaks. The fingers probing inside me are sending electric shocks

“You’re still not coming yet. But

his hand on the immaculate white linen

the napkin, talking behind it. “You’re drenched, Kirstie. Wonderful. How’s your

My pasta?

Ohhhh…… Godddddd….

*****

in arm across the river bridge

had to park so far

“but it’s a lovely evening for a

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

because I’m going to bend you

just

and turning to face him, “I think I misheard

think so.” he smiles. “When we get back to

“But we’re 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,

get arrested in the

to go down, because

at the car, I

Master’s?…

the extreme far corner of the parking lot, partially hidden by shrubs, and well away from any street lights. The setting

me.

hammering and pussy aching, I obey

turn to face the car and bend forward, hands

and lie over the bonnet, still warm from the dregs of the sunshine, my arms reaching

pushes my skirt up to my hips. My panties are worthless;

wait, to make you think about

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

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,

anyone could