Turning the Tables (lesbian sex)
I lift myself weakly up on my elbows from my recumbent position, and looking
down between my splayed legs I see Ellie standing submissively at the bottom
of the massage couch. Ellie. My new lover. Formerly my masseuse, nineteen,
hot, and just a few minutes ago her skilful hands were straying to places
most of us can only dream of when we’re on the couch. Now as I look at her I
can see that her face is still honey-slick from lapping me to a beautiful
orgasm.
Normally I am slow to recover, like a volcano that has erupted with such
power that only a little flame still burns in the core. Normally.
But then sometimes the circumstance and the experience combine alchemically
and my orgasm simply transports me to another place, and I am transformed
into an almost wholly sexual being, every whim and desire transfigured into
an all-consuming need. Alchemy is dangerous. People get burned.
My eyes rest on Ellie. She is so sweet, five foot something with her
chocolate-brown hair tied neatly back in a professional ponytail.
“Come here,” I say softly, and she pads around to the side of the couch.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure, miss,” she says.
I reach my hand out lazily, to stroke behind her knee and then up, under the
hem of her skirt. How many times have I lain here under the expert attention
of a skilful masseuse and dreamed of reaching out like this? Even when they
haven’t been as hot as Ellie – and in truth none of them have – the
combination of skin on skin and the way any massage steers teasingly close
to intimate contact has always made the possibility of something more come
into my mind.
“You’re a bad girl, Ellie.” My hand strays further up the back of her thigh.
“Yes, miss.”
“But oh so good, too.” I pause just where I would begin to feel her bottom.
“Thank you, miss.”
“Seems only fair I should return the compliment, one way or another.” I give
Ellie’s buttock the briefest of brushes over the cotton of her panties.
“Would you like that, Ellie?”
“Yes, miss. Thank you, miss.”
“Why don’t you show me those lovely boobs of yours?” I ask softly, my hand
lightly cupping her ass cheek.
Ellie fiddles with the buttons of her top. She is nervous, clearly, and it
occurs to me that maybe I am her first woman. It would be indelicate to ask
about this now, I realise, but it is another intoxicating element to the
cocktail.
She slides the top off and stands before me in her bra, a fetching white
lace number that is more decorative than I was expecting for someone who has
a relatively physical job. Below the full curves of her breasts Ellie’s
stomach is flat and lightly tanned.
“Take off your bra,” I say. “I want to see your beautiful breasts, Ellie.”
She fumbles with the catch for what seems ages, and once again I get the
thrill of believing that her nerves are down to inexperience. She even
mutters a little apology before she has done it, but then her breasts are
free and exposed.
She is beautiful. Something of the fullness, the creaminess, the proud
pertness of Ellie’s still-teenage breasts takes my breath away.
“God you’re beautiful,” I say, and reach my hand up, scarcely able to
believe that Ellie is offering me her breasts to see, let alone touch. She
stands there, awaiting my caress, and as I brush my fingers across the
smooth milky skin she closes her eyes and I wonder how many times she has
fantasized about being touched by another woman.
I gently move my fingers across the fullness of her breasts, repeatedly
teasing over her nipples, feeling them engorge and fill under my touch.
Ellie’s eyes are still closed as she stands there bare-chested, luxuriating
in my caresses.
While still fondling her breasts – how could I stop? – I slide a hand back
under her skirt to softly squeeze her buttocks through her panties. It
occurs to me that for both of us, by maintaining the basic positions of a
massage – me lying on the couch, Ellie standing beside me – we are
fulfilling the same fantasy, but each from our own perspective.
Perhaps it was by this couch, as Ellie’s hands ranged skilfully across the
soft bodies of her female clients, that she had slowly discovered an erotic
interest in her own sex. How many times had she stood here, her fingers
straying dangerously close to a client’s most intimate areas, and dreamed of
keeping on going? And had she longed to feel the touch of a client in just
the way I was touching her now? I imagined Ellie, perhaps still learning the
art of massage, her emotions in turmoil as she feels the moisture flooding
into her panties in such an unprofessional way. And lying in her bed at
night, her fingers busy between her legs as she tortures herself with wicked
thoughts.
I massage Ellie’s breasts and bum for a while, and her still-closed eyes
give an impression of quiet rapture. I move my hand around from her bottom
to the inside of her thigh, and I can see now that she is anticipating the
ultimate contact.
“Take your skirt off,” I say. Ellie’s eyes open, she smiles, and with none
of her earlier hesitation or awkwardness her skirt drops to the floor. My
young masseuse is now naked but for a pair of pure white cotton panties.
I continue to tease around her thighs for a little while but I know that she
is hungry for proper contact. I brush across her mound, and feel the spring
of a thin strip of pubic hair beneath the material. Ellie’s eyes are closed
again now as she gives in to my gentle attention.
I always like to talk, and I consider asking Ellie what she wants now, but
as I look at her face I can see that she is lost in the delicious reality of
what up until now has only been fantasy.
I slide my fingers across her panties again, further down this time, and the
material is soaked through with her honey. I see Ellie smile and I know that
I was right, she has been wet like this so many times before, but now her
wicked secret is quite deliciously exposed.
I brush across her panties just a couple more times but my need is great too
and I can tease no more. I slip my fingers inside Ellie’s panties and feel
the swollen wetness of her pussy lips. She moans, and trembles a little. My
finger runs lightly up and down her slit, and she rocks a little in rhythm
with me. I am keeping a respectful little distance from her clit, wanting
that to be the final moment of blissful discovery for her.
My finger teases just a little further inside her pussy, but I am not really
interested in penetration. There will, I believe, be so much time for that,
but for now all I want is to bring this young woman to the most delicate
orgasm of her life.
I picture how the two of us must look. It is the sweetest perversion of a
massage imaginable. I am naked, my nipples bared and stiff with excitement,
my legs splayed, my cunt wantonly exposed. Beside me my young masseuse is
virtually naked, her full breasts swaying softly to the tune I am playing
between her legs, my fingers interfering rudely under the cotton of her
panties.
It is time.
Still gently caressing Ellie’s breasts, and with my fingers teasing the
entrance to her cunt, I slip my thumb up to her clit. She shudders and
groans, the little spot which so often has given her pleasure with her own
hands finally receiving the exquisite touch of another woman. My thumb
traces gently round and around, and Ellie’s breathing gets higher and
tighter.
I look at her young face, and her expression is almost enough to make me cum
myself. Even as she approaches her climax she is smiling, utterly fulfilled
in the manner that her secret desires have finally been made real.
I circle and I tease and I fuck Ellie’s sweet cunt with my fingertips and it
is all too much for her and she starts thrusting herself down on my hand as
she explodes in her orgasm, wave after wave pushing her down and down on my
eager searching fingers.
As I finally slow my touching she is resting half-buckled against the side
of the couch, her breasts close to my face, her chest flushed from her cum
and her nipples raw from the explosion that has charged through her body.
She rests like that for some moments, utterly satisfied it seems. Then
slowly she stands upright again. “Thank you, miss.”
She looks so sweet, and vulnerable, standing there in her white panties. My
thoughts are both tender, and base.
“Ellie, at your school did you wear a uniform?”