Purdey's Lustful Quest
Copyright© 2026 by CoryKing
Chapter 9: Dinner at Donovan’s
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 9: Dinner at Donovan’s - Purdey opens her marriage seeking desire and control. What begins as permission becomes obsession, power, and erotic reinvention. As intimacy turns transactional and freedom grows intoxicating, the consequences ripple through her marriage, family, and community. A provocative erotic novel about female agency, fantasy, and the cost of wanting more.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Ma Fa Mult Consensual Drunk/Drugged NonConsensual Romantic Heterosexual True Story Sharing Slut Wife Wife Watching BDSM Light Bond Rough Spanking Gang Bang Group Sex Polygamy/Polyamory Swinging Interracial Oriental Female Anal Sex Cream Pie Double Penetration Exhibitionism Oral Sex Tit-Fucking Public Sex Size
The Rolls-Royce purred through St Kilda’s beachfront streets, its tinted windows concealing the passengers from curious onlookers. Purdey watched the passing scenery through half-lowered lashes, her body still humming from their encounter in Uzer’s office. Her burgundy dress clung to her curves like a lover’s embrace, riding high on her thighs as she sank into the butter-soft leather seat that still carried the faint scent of expensive cologne.
“You’re quiet,” Uzer observed, his large hand resting possessively on her knee. His fingers traced lazy circles against her skin, each touch sending electric currents up her thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“Processing,” she admitted, glancing at his profile. The streetlights painted shadows across his strong features, highlighting the sharp cut of his jaw. “It’s been an ... eventful evening.”
His lips quirked upward. “And it’s only just beginning.”
The car slowed as they approached Donovan’s, the engine’s purr dropping to a whisper. A valet in a crisp uniform appeared immediately, opening the door with a deferential nod to Uzer. “Good evening, Mr. Patel.”
Uzer emerged first, the fabric of his suit jacket pulling taut across his shoulders as he buttoned it before extending his hand to Purdey. She took it, conscious of how his palm dwarfed hers, the warmth of his skin contrasting with the cool evening breeze. She stepped out into the night air, inhaling deeply as the ocean carried salt and promise across her senses, teasing her hair with invisible fingers.
The restaurant’s interior welcomed them with amber lighting and the gentle symphony of fine dining – the delicate clink of crystal, the soft murmur of exclusive conversation, the almost imperceptible footfalls of practiced servers. The maître d’, a distinguished man with silver at his temples, recognized Uzer instantly, his posture straightening as he escorted them to a corner table with panoramic views of the bay. Melbourne’s lights twinkled across the water like scattered diamonds on black velvet, dancing with each subtle ripple.
“Your usual table, Mr. Patel,” the maître d’ said, pulling out Purdey’s chair with practiced elegance. “William will be your server tonight.”
Once seated, Purdey noticed how the table’s positioning afforded them privacy while still allowing Uzer to observe the entire restaurant – every entrance, every patron, every movement. A power position. Nothing about this man was accidental, from the cut of his suit to the gleam in his eye when he caught her studying him.
“You come here often?” she asked, unfolding her napkin across her lap, her fingers brushing against the damask fabric.
Uzer’s lips curved upward, revealing the hint of perfect teeth. “Often enough to know what you might enjoy.” His voice dropped an octave, heavy with suggestion. “I pride myself on anticipating desires.”
A sommelier approached with a bottle of champagne already nestled in ice, condensation beading on its elegant neck. “The Dom Pérignon Rosé, as requested,” he announced, presenting the bottle for inspection, the label catching the light.
Uzer nodded his approval, and the sommelier expertly uncorked it with a satisfying pop that turned several heads. He poured a splash for Uzer to taste, the pale pink liquid fizzing in the crystal. Uzer swirled, sniffed, and tasted with the confidence of a connoisseur before the sommelier filled Purdey’s flute and then his own, the bubbles racing upward in thin golden streams.
“To new partnerships,” Uzer said, raising his glass, the champagne catching and fracturing the light.
Purdey met his gaze over the rim of her flute, her lipstick leaving a perfect imprint. “Professional ones.” Her tone challenged even as her eyes invited.
His eyes darkened with amusement, like storm clouds gathering. “Of course.” The words hung between them, weighted with delicious doubt.
Their server appeared moments later, moving with the silent grace of a dancer. “Mr. Patel, we’ve prepared your selections for this evening. Shall I bring the first course?”
“Please,” Uzer confirmed without consulting a menu, his eyes never leaving Purdey’s face.
“You ordered for me?” Purdey asked when the server departed, one eyebrow arched in question.
“Is that a problem?” His tone suggested he already knew the answer, the corner of his mouth lifting in that half-smile that made her pulse quicken treacherously.
Before she could respond, the server returned with a large platter of oysters nestled in crushed ice that sparkled under the restaurant lights. The shellfish glistened, pearlescent and inviting, garnished with lemon wedges and mignonette sauce that filled the air with vinegar’s sharp tang.
“Sydney rock oysters,” Uzer explained, “your favourite, if I’m not mistaken.” His fingers selected one, confident and precise in their movement.
Purdey raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. “How did you—”
“Ian mentioned it,” he said casually, selecting an oyster and offering it to her, his eyes never leaving hers. “Open.”
At his command, Purdey parted her lips without thinking, her breath catching slightly as he tipped the pearlescent shell with practiced ease, letting the oyster slide into her mouth. The briny sweetness burst across her tongue—cool, slippery, and rich with the essence of the sea—while the scent of salt and distant shores filled her nostrils. The delicate mineral aftertaste lingered like a whispered secret, dancing along the edges of her palate in the dim, golden light of the restaurant where crystal glasses clinked softly in the background. She swallowed the oyster with practiced experience, feeling its silky texture glide down her throat, leaving behind that distinctive metallic tang that clung to her senses—not unlike how she might swallow something liquid with a similar cool, oceanic essence that temporarily transformed her into a creature of the tides.
“Good?” he asked, watching her intently, his pupils dilating as she swallowed, the crystal chandelier overhead reflecting tiny stars in his dark eyes.
She nodded, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks under his scrutiny, the soft background piano music seeming to accentuate the moment. “Perfect.” The word carried more meaning than she intended, hanging in the air between them like an unspoken promise, resonant with possibilities.
Course after course arrived—seared scallops that melted on contact, king prawns glistening with herb-infused oil, lobster medallions bathed in a butter sauce that left a decadent sheen on her lips—each more exquisite than the last. Uzer insisted on feeding her choice morsels, his fingers occasionally brushing against her lips, leaving trails of warmth that lingered long after he withdrew. The champagne flowed continuously in tall, elegant flutes, the effervescence tickling her nose while warming her blood and lowering her inhibitions with each sip.
Their conversation flowed too—architecture, travel, art—revealing Uzer’s unexpected depth of knowledge. She found herself mesmerized by the cadence of his voice, the thoughtful pauses before his responses. He listened attentively when she spoke, asking questions that showed genuine interest rather than polite obligation, his gaze never wandering from her face.
By dessert—a decadent chocolate soufflé they shared, its aroma rich and intoxicating as it collapsed beneath their spoons—Purdey found herself no longer across from Uzer but beside him, their legs touching beneath the table. The wine had warmed her veins, the exquisite meal had lowered her defenses, and his attentiveness throughout the evening had drawn her closer still. Now, as he lifted a spoonful of the velvety dessert to her lips, the restaurant empty around them save for the soft clink of glasses being cleared and the distant murmur of kitchen staff, she felt herself responding to something beyond his physical presence, something that made her lean into his touch as naturally as breathing.
“Shall we move somewhere more comfortable?” Uzer suggested, nodding toward the lounge area with its plush velvet couches overlooking the water, where the city lights danced as shimmering reflections across the dark surface.
They relocated with fresh glasses of champagne. Uzer chose a secluded couch partially hidden by an ornate decorative screen of carved wood and frosted glass. As they sat, he positioned himself close enough for his thigh to press against hers, the warmth of him seeping through the thin fabric of her dress.
“No one can see us here,” he observed, his voice low and intimate, the subtle scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something uniquely him—enveloping her.
Purdey glanced blurry eyed most of the patrons had left. Behind the ornate decorative screen, they were hidden from the remaining staff and patrons. Purdey pulled Uzer towards her with his tie and asked, “Planning something?”
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