Turning The Tables Ch 01 1

"Good evening, Miss Cornell. My name is Ellie. If you'd like to take all your clothes off, and lie face down on the couch under the towel, I'll be back with you in just a second."

Ellie is younger than any of the masseuses I've had before. Nineteen maybe, twenty max. Prettier too. Petite, but with a full little body and chocolate brunette hair drawn back practically in a ponytail. And not just pretty, sexy too, in a subtle but powerful way.

As I quickly strip and slip under the soft linen towel I know I'm in trouble.

Now don't get the wrong impression, I'm not the kind of woman that needs to go to a seedy corner of town to hand over my hard-earned cash for some executive relief. Quite frankly I know damn well that if I want it I can get it, and without diluting my standards too far, either.

No, Ellie is a pukka masseuse in the pukka spa of a five star hotel, and right up until the moment she introduced herself I'd been expecting nothing more nor less than the exquisite sixty minutes of escape that is a quality professional massage.

She pads back into the room in bare feet, and I am thrilled that under the towel I am naked. She slides the towel down my back, and inevitably I want her to keep on going, to strip me bare. "Go on, expose my ass you pretty young thing," I think, but inevitably she stops at the small of my back, just where it all starts to get interesting.

She begins on my upper back, silent, professional. Normally I love the quiet, the opportunity to lose myself in nothing, but just now as Ellie's hands repeatedly sweep down towards my bottom and then slip teasingly away again there is a lot more than nothing on my mind.

"You're very good," I murmur, originality being sacrificed to necessity.

"Thank you, miss."

"Do you mind if I ask how old you are Ellie?"

"Nineteen, miss."

"Well this is the best massage I've had in a very long time. I'm impressed."

"Thank you, miss." Not surprisingly, given that masseuses are the mirror opposites of hair stylists, conversation is perhaps not her strongest suit.

The towel is returned to my shoulders, and then the bottom seam slid up my leg, up the back of my thigh. "Keep going, keep going," I think, but inevitably she stops just at the crease of my butt.

Ellie's hands are strong, firm, controlling. It is thrilling to feel her young fingers controlling my flesh so. I have to have another go.

"You're boyfriend's a lucky guy," I venture.

Ellie giggles nervously. "You'd probably better tell him that, miss." I have an image of a scrawny pimply nineteen year old boy mounting this lovely little girl, and I shudder.

"Is everything okay, miss? I'm not pressing too hard, am I?"

"Your touch is exquisite, Ellie. I'm afraid my reaction was for entirely different reasons."

She giggles nervously and I realise that in the semi-stupor Ellie has induced my words are -- a trifle wickedly -- ambiguous.

"You're being so skilful, so sensuous," I growl softly. "I bet you get some of your male clients into the most terrible difficulties." Not to mention the female ones, of course.

Another giggle. I'm still there. At the same time Ellie's attention switches to the top of my thigh. I am quite desperate for her hands on my bottom, for her to take a literally cheeky risk and massage my ass.

"We're very professional, miss."

"But sometimes...?"

"But sometimes when the gentlemen turn over, there's...well, there's a little embarrassment."

"Well a little embarrassment isn't worth getting anyone into trouble, is it?"

This time Ellie's laugh is different, a little freer and, dare I hope, just a little excited? Her hands press up again, so close to my buttocks, so desperately desperately close.

"If you'd like to turn over now, miss." Ellie lifts the towel, but in a purely professional way, to hide my movement from her eyes. I do as I am bid.

Now I am on my back, my nipples surely poking like pencils through the thin towel. No matter, I am now able to look Ellie in the eyes.

"God this feels incredible," I say. She looks demurely down.

Ellie is now moving both hands up either side of my thigh. Perhaps it's my imagination, but the towel seems to be edging further away from hiding my modesty. My breathing gets shallow.

"You keep yourself in very good shape, miss," Ellie says. Is it me, or is she steering the conversation in the same way as me?

"Why thank you."

"Some clients...well, it's all just muscle. If you don't mind me saying, miss, you seem to have struck just the right balance. Just the right amount of tone."

I'm sure the towel is now exposing far too much of the creamy white skin around my narrow line of pubic hair.

"Well my lovers seem to enjoy a little bit of tough and a little bit of soft." Plural. And non-gender-specific (as they say). Surely she's noticed?

Ellie's firm fingers are right at the top of my inner thigh, inches from my sex. Just the slightest deviation by her and I could be in heaven.

"This may be terribly impertinent, Ellie, but do you think we could get rid of this silly towel? It's kind of distracting." I feel so daring, more so even than if we were flirting in a nightclub.

"Of course, miss. Some of my continental clients do prefer things that way." I curse my earlier reticence. How beautiful it could have been from the very beginning to be naked under Ellie's ministrations. The towel is lifted carefully and folded away. My nipples are, I know, poking and engorged, but I feel only pride that my intense excitement is so shamelessly visible to the young woman. Surely it must be exciting for Ellie to see me like this? I am an attractive woman, I know, and as Ellie herself has pointed out I keep my body in good shape. Is she getting wet, having me like this? Is she thinking that when the session is finished she'll slip her hand inside her panties and finger her already-soaking pussy to the naughtiest of cums? Or is she, too, thinking and hoping that things might go further right here and right now?

Ellie moves around the table to work on my other thigh. It feels glorious to be like this, of course, but to just finish politely and professionally would now be a terrible disappointment. Surely it just needs one more push from me?

"I'm sorry if I'm a little excited, Ellie." I'm not sorry at all. "I've never felt like this in a massage before. You're being so sensuous, I really can't help myself at all. Please forgive me."

"It's not a problem, miss."

"It must be wonderful, to have such a skill, to excite another woman so much."

"Yes, I think it is," she says carefully.

"Is it exciting for you too?"

She pauses, uncertain whether she can say it. "Yes, miss."

"We're naughty, aren't we, getting ourselves in a state like this?"

"I'm sorry, miss, I don't normally..."

"Don't be sorry. I feel wonderful. And what would be heaven is - if you would like to -- if you would touch me everywhere."

"I would like to very much, miss." I am not sure what she will do, but almost immediately her hands sweep up to my aching breasts. She is deft and gentle, bringing the same combination of skill and sensuousness but now with the most tender eroticism. She works my nipples between her fingers, firm but never rough. They feel like two electric bullets of excitement. No-one has ever been so skilful at touching my breasts.

Ellie is standing beside me now, and I could reach out and run my hand up the back of her leg, slide it under her hem to feel the soft warmth of her backside. But something tells me that for now this should be all about me. Then I can focus exclusively on Ellie, and the thought of stripping that full little body bare and exposing and caressing every inch of it makes me moan out loud. This time Ellie knows exactly the reason, and a satisfied little smile crosses her lips.

She moves down to the bottom of the couch and my breasts instantly miss her touch. Once again she works her hands softly up the inside of my legs, but this time I have the extraordinary knowledge that the journey will not stop. She slides a hand up my inner thigh, her fingers reaching past my sex, her thumbs so close to my swollen lips.

Then, her head is moving down, and I can only wonder if she is simply curious to have another woman's most private parts revealed like this or whether she has something even more sensuous in mind. Whatever, the look on her face is one of simple, almost polite, interest.

I feel the soft warmth of her breath on my pussy and I know that this delicious young woman is going down on me. She brings her tongue delicately against my labia and quite uncontrollably I spasm at the soft sweet contact. She slowly draws her tongue up and down my lips, savouring the flavour of my honey and the texture of my cunt. She teases -- does she ever not? -- around my button, knowing that I am so close that the moment must wait a little. It also seems that she is enjoying the opportunity to explore me so intimately.

Her hands reach up to my poor neglected titties, and this time she is firmer, knowing, I think, that this is what I need. Then, finally, she draws her mouth directly up to my button, kissing it gently with her lips, tipping it with her tongue, and it is all too much, to be serviced so exquisitely by such a hot young thing, and I am bucking and writhing as my release pours through me in wave after wave.

It takes forever for my exploding passion to subside, and as I lie back on the bed with my nipples poking hard and a thin sheen of sweat between my breasts I look down at my young lover. She is there between my legs, still fully clothed but her face flushed and her mouth juicy with my honey.

Mm. Her turn.