“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.