Hot Revenge Box Set 2

Larry slices into something, chews, then says, “This is excellent. What am I eating here?”

James looks across to his plate. “Prune-stuffed pork. Regional speciality where I grew up, usually made for special occasions.” Larry’s brows arch.

Under the table, I become aware of a hand on my thigh. Ryan appears to be listening to the conversation, but ‘below stairs’ he eases between my knees, pushing them apart. Very quietly, he murmurs, “Open up.”

James and Larry are still talking. “Where was that? That you grew up, I mean?”

“Spain.”

“Really? What part?”

“Valencia Province. You know it?”

“Not well. I've visited Valencia city, but I didn't get further afield than that. So, you're Spanish?”

“My mother was Spanish. My father English.”

Ryan eases a finger down and in, tracing a line over my skin that makes my pussy warm and twitch. He speaks without moving his lips. “Wider.”

I’m trying to chew my food, but it’s not easy. Finger and thumb pluck at my panties. “Off.”

“Ryan…” My voice is a hiss.

“Off, I said.”

All eyes are on James and Larry. Nonetheless, I’m happy that, my face made-up, my flush is concealed as I raise myself from my seat just enough for Ryan to hook fingers into my panties and tug down. “Finish the job,” he murmurs. “Take them off and give them to me.”

Christ…

the table, everyone talking to everyone

slide the panties down and over my ankles, pressing them into Ryan’s waiting

fork, Kirstie?” James is

wipe it down on my

don’t move. But

difficult to chew turkey while having your pussy

*****

uneasily in her seat. Richard murmurs something quiet to her, and she

Charlotte pipes up. “Bladder?”

“Um,

Give you a hand. I know what it’s like when

But Charlotte is struggling herself to

myself, but with Ryan’s finger working spirals between my pussy

Black dress, not red…

Hmmm…

shoulder. “Kirstie, why do

an austere expression

up. “Actually, I’ve always wondered that too…” James and Richard

“Because it is an ideal opportunity to compare notes about

his lip. “I had

into the room, tails wagging, noses raised towards table level, or in Emma’s case, above table level, giving her a

snaps his fingers under the table, waving the greasy paper. “Hey, Scruffy. Here, Scruffy.” Michael’s rat-faced mongrel streaks across the floor, snatches at the hat then

Larry exchange inspired glances, snatching off their own hats. Michael wipes his down with a

Famine, sits at Richard’s feet, raising limpid brown eyes