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?”