*****
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.
“Ryan!” My voice is a strangled squeak.
“I told you that I want to see you try to eat 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, “no-one else
can see what I’m doing.”
And with that, his hand pushes in and up, and through my mouthful of food, I suppress a squeal as
fingers plunge deep, rubbing at my g-spot.
All but disabled by the earthquake in my flesh, I judder against the penetrating, delicious, invading,
electric fingers, struggling to swallow long strands of spaghetti.
“That’s it. Enjoy your food, but I want you good and expectant for later when I get my cock inside you.”
It’s not going to take too long. My already swollen pussy is unfurling as he speaks. The fingers probing
inside me are sending electric shocks pinging through to my clit. My hips quake and jerk and he smiles
edge-ways at me.
He leans in close to me again, working my inner muscles all the while “You’re still not coming yet. But
this is your last appetiser. You get the main course soon.”
And with that, he pulls free, wiping his hand on the immaculate white linen napkin.
He dabs at his mouth with the napkin, talking behind it. “You’re drenched, Kirstie. Wonderful. How’s
your pasta?”
My pasta?
Ohhhh…… Godddddd….
*****
Our meal finished, we walk back arm in arm across the river bridge from the Old City to the New, where
Ryan’s car is parked.
“I don’t know why you had to park so far out,” I say. “It’s quite a long walk.”
“It is,” he agrees, “but it’s a lovely evening for a stroll.”
“So it is,” I say, feeling warm and happy; tingling with arousal and the pleasant anticipation of arriving
back at Ryan’s apartment.
“And besides,” he continues, “I picked a quiet spot because I’m going to bend you over the bonnet, and
fuck you til you scream.”
Did I just hear that?
“Sorry,” I say, halting and turning to face him, “I think I misheard you.”
“I don’t think so.” he smiles. “When we get back to the car, I’m going to fuck you over the car.”
I’m beginning to panic. “But we’re parked in a public place.” I protest.
“No, we’re not. We’re parked in the shadows there. You can see out, but they can’t see in. And
besides,” he gives me a cool look, “if I understand aright, you’ve often fucked in the clubs with an
audience, and enjoyed it.”
“You don’t get arrested in the clubs. It’s still daylight, Ryan.”
“So, walk slowly. Give the sun chance to go down, because that’s what’s going to happen.”
Back at the car, I consider my Lover’s…
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 is blushing shadows over the spot, and the car is
shrouded in shades of green and grey.
He head-points me. “Stand there.”
Swallowing hard, heart hammering and pussy aching, I obey him.
“Now turn to face the car and bend forward, hands outstretched flat.”
Obediently, I turn and lie over the bonnet, still warm from the dregs of the sunshine, my arms reaching
outward.
Ryan pushes my skirt up to my hips. My panties are worthless; soaked and sagging, and he tugs them
down behind my knees.
A hand cups my 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, and you’re sopping.”
He skims my aching pussy lips, drawing fingernails over sensitised and quivering skin. As I whimper,
behind me there is the rasp of a zipper.
Ryan is 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 cock is huge and warm and deliciously hard, and my hot cunt
vibrates in welcome, clutching and clenching at the penetrating shaft.
“Ryan, anyone could see us.”
“No, they can’t. And in any case, it’s not your choice. Your only choice in this is to use your safe
words…. if you want to.”
He pulls free from my pussy, leaving me empty…. wanting.
“Do you want to use your safe words, Kirstie?”
“No,” I whisper.
There is a pause and a rustling noise. Something being taken from a pocket? Then, the faintest of
whirring, buzzing sounds.
Between my slick pussy lips, vibrating as it goes, some object is pushed inside, inserted deep.
I gasp and convulse, but Ryan simply pushes it in harder, pressing inward. I can’t make out what it is,
but he’s angling to my g-spot, and it vibes through my internal muscles, sending my breath skittering
and my nerves jangling.
Flinging my head back, a hand fists into my hair. The other hand slips around my belly, settling on my
tormented clit, now swollen, heated and engorged, and he rubs and flicks and pulls, to my ever-
increasing moans.
“Quiet, Kirstie. You must be quiet here. No-one passing by can see you, but they could hear you.”
I try to obey, but as I bring my moans under control, the vibe inside me notches up a level and changes
to a rise and fall rhythm.
Then…. I feel it, probing at my back entrance. A finger inserts, then circles. It’s slick and slippery,
whether with saliva or some lube, or my own juices, I don’t know. but it slides in and gradually stretches
me. Another follows, and another. My ass is slowly opened, stretched wide.
And finally, Ryan moves against me, his body close to mine as his cock probes at my ass.
“Ryan, no you can’t….”
“I can. I want to and I’m going to. I told you I was going to have you like this.”
“If we’re caught….”
“We won’t be caught. But you can think about it, can’t you…. What if someone were to see us, you half
naked over my car, me fucking you up the ass….”
And perversely, my cunt floods, hot moisture trickling down my thighs and the back of my knees. But
I’m uneasy and….
…. scared?
He continues to ease in, gradually in and out, his thick shaft inside me.
“Redbreast, Ryan. Redbreast!”
He pauses, withdraws. “Really? You really want me to stop?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Am I hurting you?”
“No,” I confess.
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