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

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 and plants, “no-one else

and up, and through my mouthful of

but disabled by the earthquake in my flesh, I judder against the penetrating, delicious, invading, electric fingers, struggling

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

pussy is unfurling as he speaks. The fingers probing inside me are sending electric shocks pinging through to

while “You’re still not coming yet.

that, he pulls free, wiping his hand

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

My pasta?

Ohhhh…… Godddddd….

*****

back arm in arm across the river bridge

to park so far out,” I

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

with arousal

picked a quiet spot because I’m going to bend you over the bonnet, and fuck you til

I just hear

to face him, “I think I misheard

so.” he smiles. “When we get back to the car, I’m going to fuck you

beginning to panic. “But we’re parked in a

can’t see in. And besides,” he gives me a cool look, “if I understand aright, you’ve often fucked in the

in the clubs. It’s

Give the sun chance to go down, because that’s what’s going

at the car, I

Master’s?…

well away from any street lights. The setting sun is blushing shadows over the spot, and the

me.

hard, heart hammering and pussy aching, I obey

car and bend forward, hands outstretched

and lie over the bonnet, still warm from the dregs of the

my hips. My panties are worthless; soaked and sagging, and he

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

sensitised and quivering skin. As I

my pulsing pussy, thrusting a few times as he finishes opening me up. His cock is huge and warm and deliciously hard, and my

could