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.

My voice is a

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 and plants,

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

against the penetrating, delicious, invading,

it. Enjoy your food, but I want you good and expectant for later when I get my

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

still not coming yet.

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

with the napkin, talking behind it. “You’re drenched,

My pasta?

Ohhhh…… Godddddd….

*****

arm across the river bridge from the Old

you had to park so

it’s a lovely evening for a

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

because I’m going to bend you over

I just

and turning to face him, “I think I

he smiles. “When we get back to the car,

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

see in. And besides,” he gives me a cool look, “if I understand aright, you’ve often fucked in the clubs

don’t get arrested in the clubs. It’s still

chance to go down,

car, I consider

Master’s?…

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 is blushing shadows over the spot, and the car

head-points me. “Stand

hammering and pussy aching,

to face the car and bend forward, hands outstretched

over the bonnet, still warm

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

to make you think

pussy lips, drawing fingernails over sensitised and quivering skin. As I whimper, behind me there is the rasp

still fully dressed in his evening suit, but he pushes inside my pulsing pussy, thrusting a few times as he finishes opening me up. His

anyone could