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.

voice is a

I finger you.” he chuckles, one-handedly scooping and winding brilliantly green noodles. He glances around our cubicle. “I like

of food, I suppress a squeal as

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

but I want you good and expectant for later when I get my

unfurling as he speaks. The fingers probing inside me are sending electric shocks pinging through to my clit. My hips

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

wiping his

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

My pasta?

Ohhhh…… Godddddd….

*****

meal finished, we walk back arm in arm across the river bridge from the Old City to the New, where Ryan’s

you had to park so far out,” I

he agrees, “but it’s a lovely evening

and happy; tingling with arousal and the pleasant anticipation of arriving back at

“I picked a quiet spot because I’m going to

I just

and turning to face

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

“But we’re parked in a public place.” I

in. And besides,” he gives me a cool look, “if I understand aright,

the clubs. It’s

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

at the car,

Master’s?…

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

head-points me.

heart hammering and pussy aching,

face the car and

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

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

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,

skin. As I whimper, behind

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

anyone could