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…

glance around the table,

drop my fork, then, pasting on a sheepish smile, duck under the table to ‘retrieve it’. In the five seconds I have to work with, I slide the panties down and over my ankles, pressing them into Ryan’s waiting

James is already half-standing

fine.” I wipe it down on

move. But

astonishingly difficult to chew turkey while

*****

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

Charlotte pipes up. “Bladder?”

“Um,

a hand. I know what it’s like when

is struggling herself to get up from her seat and Mitch rises too.

a comfort break myself, but with Ryan’s finger working spirals between my pussy lips, I’m

Black dress, not red…

Hmmm…

three women exit, Ryan taps me on the shoulder. “Kirstie, why do

turn an austere

I’ve always wondered

is an ideal opportunity to

lip.

stands and clicks the door open. A tide of dogs flows into the room, tails wagging, noses

of the paper. He 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 speeds away with it, trailing oily tissue behind

and Larry exchange inspired glances, snatching off

they are late for the Apocalypse. Meg, in her best rendition of the role of Famine, sits at Richard’s feet, raising limpid brown eyes to him, then as she is presented with turkey-flavoured tissue, descends

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