Turning the Tables Ch. 03

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Sitting in the hotel lobby, sipping at a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, I am surprised to realize I am nervous. It is not the surroundings. The palm trees, the art deco styling, and the luxurious leather couches are familiar to me, not just at this hotel but from all those palaces around the world that for the last eighty or so years have effortlessly remained havens of sophistication and calm. And the service is as it should be — pleasant, respectful, but avoiding the rigid stiffness that you might expect in such a venerable location.

Indeed my waitress is a sweet French thing, tall, blonde, and in other circumstances I might consider starting the long languorous process of her possible seduction.

But not today. Today there is something else on my mind. Something that makes me unaccustomedly tense.

I am meeting Ellie here.

Don’t get me wrong, I expect her to turn up. Our brief time together so far has been so delicious and intense that I am confident my young lover is hungry for more.

No, it is the extent to which Ellie will comply with my instructions that has me on edge. Partly, I wonder if my innocent little nineteen year old will be able to go through with it, or whether it will all seem too ridiculous. I wouldn’t blame her.

Then, frankly, there is the reaction she will create as she walks in the room. I am not normally one to give a stuff about what other people think — just try me — but there is something about what Ellie and I are attempting that seems quite shockingly at odds with the very essence of the Palm Room.

But then again, I think of those photos from the ‘Twenties and ‘Thirties. The debs and the flappers in their short little frilly numbers. They were decadent times, weren’t they, coke and cocktails and all that jazz? What might have happened in this very room? I close my eyes briefly and picture a couple of hot young things, high and wild and the moment takes them, they are off to a dark corner, hands groping under those teasing hemlines, mouths on roughly exposed titties, fingers slipping under silken underwear as they finger each other’s pussies to a frantic orgasm.

And I realize that money and depravity have walked hand in hand since time immemorial, that they are, in fact, “tres sympathique”, as my waitress might say. That businessman over there, does he get hot every time the waitress bends over, his cock stirring at the sight of her curves pressing against her simple black uniform? Has he carelessly left the keys to his Ferrari on the table, almost literally dangling the prospect of his wealth and power in front of her, in the hope that when her shift is over she will join him in his room, strip for him, and kneel naked on his bed as he mounts and fucks her whatever way he wants?

And the elegant lady over there, sipping iced water. So smartly dressed, so sophisticated. While her husband is away on yet another business trip, does she occupy her time with the hired hands, insatiable for the sensation of their rough young cocks filling her every hole?

I feel giddy, intoxicated; and then Ellie walks into the room.

All eyes are drawn to her. Of course they are. For while Ellie is nineteen and has worked fulltime as a respectable masseuse for the last couple of years, right now all five foot and a bit of her is standing in the gray uniform of one of this city’s finest high schools.

She looks awfully nervous, scanning the room for me, her hands awkward by her sides, and I feel for her. No doubt she is aware of all of the attention. The businessman has forgotten the waitress, and every inch of him strains to possess this bewitching young thing, to ravage and plunder it. The elegant lady also stares openly, perhaps wondering what it would be like to enjoy the sensual pleasures of such sweet young innocence, to cup and nurse Ellie’s full breasts.

But she is mine.

Ellie sees me and smiles, her relief evident. She walks towards me and now the eyes are on me. Am I her sister, or maybe, just possibly, her mother? I cut a pretty fine figure myself, and I know from long experience that when I am with my lovers in public we make an alluring and intriguing impression.

“Hello, Ellie. You look fabulous. Please sit down.” It’s true. Her chocolate brown hair is drawn back, as always, in a ponytail. In the past this has been for the practicalities of her work, but now, ahem, it accentuates her saucy innocence. She is wearing make-up, but subtly, in a way that would not draw censure from her teachers. The uniform she is wearing is the one that up until a couple of years ago she wore every day to school. As such it is quite sensibly cut, but anything that contains Ellie’s petite but full body inevitably excites rather than disappoints. The skirt sits just at her knee, presumably where regulation stipulates. I once saw a French film called Claire’s Knee (“Le Genou de Claire” in fact) which was all about a middle-aged man’s obsession with a teenaged girl’s knee. I look down at the finely sculpted bone and gently taut pale ümraniye escort brown skin of Ellie’s knee, and I feel like making a feature myself.

“Thank you, miss.” When I first met Ellie, as her client, the “Miss” thing was a bit of a surprise. This is the twenty-first century after all, and I would expect to be called “Samantha” by a masseuse. So it jarred a little, and I couldn’t quite figure it out. Now I believe that, from our very first meeting, Ellie was offering me the gentlest little coded offering of her submission.

“What would you like?”

“I’ve always dreamed of afternoon tea here, Miss. It just seemed, oh, the most wonderful luxurious thing. Would that be all right?”

“Of course it is.” As she takes our order I see that even our waitress is intrigued by Ellie. An image of the three of us together, locked in the most wonderful tangle, Ellie and Frenchie perhaps in a clawing 69, floods briefly through me, but I put it to one side. Today is about Ellie and me.

So we sit and chat about nothing and we take our tea and gradually the interest around us dies down, although I am intrigued to see that it is the elegant lady and not the businessman who can’t help but keep looking in our direction. Is it just me or are her nipples poking a little at that smart white Collezione blouse?

Then the tea is finished and the last crumb eaten. Ellie sits, a little expectant, a little nervous. Does she think that I have reserved us a room, that just upstairs awaits a whole new world of sensual depravity?

“Now,” I say, standing briskly up, “it’s time to go shopping.”


In the department store we have, again, made a stir. Everyone wants to help. I am careful to ensure “our” assistant is a pretty Canadian called Amy.

I have decided that I am buying Ellie a new “outfit”. This will give her plenty of opportunity for dressing and undressing, with my intimate help of course. We are in a changing room, with just enough space for me to fuss around my charge.

“Why don’t you try this on first?” I say, offering Ellie a skirt. Something about her bare from the waist down appeals, and today is about satisfying my whims.

Ellie slips off her school skirt. She isn’t wearing pantyhose or stockings, and so she is revealed in a simple but elegant pair of plain white cotton panties.

“They’re like I used to wear at school, Miss,” she whispers, clearly concerned about the possibility of being overheard by Amy. “I hope they’re alright.”

Ellie’s legs are slim and pale tan, and there is a lovely contrast with the whiteness of her underwear. “Yes. You look fabulous. Let me help you with that skirt.”

She steps in and we lift it up together, my hands brushing all the way up her legs, behind her knees, then over the soft material of Ellie’s panties. As she zips it up I brush the material across the soft globes of Ellie’s ass, carelessly intimate.

“That’s nice,” I say. “Let’s try another.”

When the new skirt is in place I make a comment about the lining. I kneel in front of Ellie and lift the hem up, my face now just a few inches from the crotch of her panties. Ellie stands quite still, fully aware that this is by no means all about new clothes.

“Is everything okay?” calls Amy from outside the door, and Ellie jumps.

“Oh yes,” I say, bringing my mouth forward to brush my lips across Ellie’s panties, feeling the spring of her pubic thatch under the thin material. “We’re fine.” I slide my fingers up the back of Ellie’s thigh and under her panties, moving lightly across the soft flesh of her bum. Then, just as suddenly, I move away and stand up. “Now, those tops.”

Ellie’s skirt remains bunched around her waist — a terribly thing to do to an expensive piece of couture, but what can you do? — as she slips of her uniform jacket and unbuttons her white school blouse. Her bra matches her panties in its simplicity, but the sight of the roundness of her beautiful boobs is enough to transform the most practical of item. I look Ellie in the eye and without a word she knows that right now I think her the most beautiful thing alive.

Ellie slips on a top, and once more I am all attentive, teasing the bottom hem into place while the fingers of my other hand stroke underneath the edge of her panties. Ellie whimpers a little. Good.

“Not your best color,” I murmur, and the top is lifted off. I stand quickly, and as my fingers still search around the edges of Ellie’s crotch, my other hand strokes across her bra, feeling the softness of her beautiful breasts. Ellie’s nipples are already hard and stiff; being fondled like this in such a public place is clearly a highly effective warm up.

I decide that for the moment trying on clothes will have to wait. I move alongside Ellie, and slip one hand down the front of her panties, the other down the back. She stands quite still, clearly nervous at being treated like this in a department store changing room, but at the same time willing to submit to my attention. Willing and excited.

I pendik escort brush Ellie’s pubic hair while my other hand rubs and presses her ass cheeks. I move both hands around, roaming freely over my lover’s most private areas. I set up a gentle rhythm and Ellie responds with a gentle motion, almost unconsciously inviting me to explore more intimately, drawing me ever deeper.

I nuzzle at Ellie’s shoulder as I feel her. Finally my fingers slip naturally into Ellie’s slit, she is wet and soft and oozing for me. I slide my fingers up and down teasing all along her lips. Her breathing gets shorter and more urgent.

“Is everything okay?” Amy calls from outside. Instinctively Ellie ducks, and I follow her, just managing to keep my pawing hands in place.

“We’re fine, thanks,” I say, my voice betraying only the slightest waver. Both Ellie and I are now squatting down, with both my hands busy inside her panties. “You need anything, Ellie?” I ask, the temptation to go a little too far proving too much.

Ellie struggles for breath. She is close to cumming, I know. At the front she can feel me fingers probing at the entrance to her pussy, whilst at the back my fingers are tracing a firm route up and down her ass crack, not penetrating all the way down but undoubtedly rudely intrusive. No wonder it is difficult to speak.

“I’m fine thanks,” she croaks eventually. Her face is bright red, not just from my gentle fingering but also from embarrassment.

Amy sounds a little uncertain about what’s going on. “Well, if you need any help just let me know.” I would love for her to help by coming in right now and offering her tight little titties for Ellie to chew on as she cums, or maybe turn around and give me her ass to eat, but I don’t make the offer.

I haven’t for a second stopped working at Ellie’s body, and as Amy walks away I can feel she is once again close to cumming.

There are, of course, mirrors in the changing room, and as I look to one side I can see what a delicious tableau Ellie and I make. We are still crouched down, and although I am fully dressed my face is flushed with my excitement. Ellie still has on her underwear, and the skirt is still ruined around her waist. What captivates me is the way the Z-ish shape of her posture shows off every curve of her firm young body to perfection, the roundness of her bum and tits in her simple white underwear.

Ellie sees where I am looking and looks at herself at the mirror. Her eyes seem drawn to the way she is letting me feel both her pussy and ass under her panties. It looks so sordid, and yet I can see it is precisely the image she needs. Silently, almost desperately, I feel her tense, her breathing become almost choked, and then she rocks violently in the most anguished but fabulous orgasm. When she has finished she collapses weakly into my arms. The air in the changing room is heavy with the musk of our sex.

“I think we’ll be taking all of these,” I call out to Amy, my voice a little uncertain. I look down at the skirt. “Including the skirt.”


I sit in a chair in my hotel suite. Ellie stands a few feet in front of me, her hands by her side. She is still wearing her high school uniform. She looks nervous, as well she might. The time for teasing is over.

“Ellie, are you wearing regulation school underwear?”

“Yes, miss.” Ellie blushes. She left school ages ago, and of course there was never any question of regulation underwear even then. It is embarrassing, acting out this game.

“Well there’s only one way to find out. Please lift your skirt.”

Again Ellie looks embarrassed, foolish, but she dutifully reaches down and lifts her skirt to her waist.

“Come closer, girl. I can’t see anything from here.”

Ellie walks towards me, the hem of her skirt still in her hands, until she is right in front of me.

“Those aren’t school panties, Ellie.” It’s true. The ones she was wearing in the department store were utterly soaked through, so Ellie had left the changing room pantieless and I had added a matching set of white CK panties and bra to our purchases. As usual with Mr Klein’s underwear they are simple but sexy.

“No, miss.” Ellie looks demurely down, apparently ashamed at this transgression.

I lean forward, my face now only an inch or so from the Ellie’s crotch. “Ellie, are these new panties wet? Are you getting them all wet?” It’s true, there is a little spot of moisture where Ellie’s juices have seeped into the material.

Ellie blushes a still deeper shade of red at the revelation that our little charade has turned her on so much and so quickly. But for the moment she says nothing.

“You’re turned on, aren’t you? I can see your nipples are sticking out too. You’re turned on by flashing your panties at me, aren’t you?” Ellie nods her head slowly. “I had no idea I was dealing with such a hot little slut. There’s only one thing to be done with you. Get over my knee now young lady.”

Ellie looks at me briefly, an expression of bostancı escort genuine surprise on her face. But she makes no move, clearly unsure whether to obey.

“Get over my knee!”

“Yes, miss.” She pads round to my right and folds herself lightly over me knee.

“Pull up your skirt again.”

“Yes, miss. Sorry miss.” Ellie’s bottom would look gorgeous in any circumstance, but clad in simple white panties and pulled taut across my knee, it is a pure erotic vision.

“To make sure you understand you are being punished, Ellie, after every stroke I want you to thank me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, miss.”

I lift my hand and bring it down on Ellie’s bottom. It is a feeble stroke, really, but still Ellie starts at the contact. She is perhaps uncertain how it will feel, but I want to spank my young lover for the sensation of controlling her ass, not of causing her pain. She will feel my paddling in her brain more than in her butt cheeks.

“Thank you, miss.”

The next smack is both better placed and firmer, and there is a satisfying clap as I make contact.

“Thank you, miss.”

I bring down my smacks regularly, leaving a long enough gap for Ellie to thank me and to anticipate the next blow. So far as is possible, I bring my palm down all over Ellie’s sweet bottom.

After perhaps a minute I pause. “Does your bottom sting, Ellie?”

She nods her head. “Yes, miss.”

“Well we don’t want your lovely soft flesh marked, do we? Pass me that oil.” Ellie reaches to the floor and hands up a bottle of massage oil.

I take a deep breath. There are some moments which you know will simply make you ache with their beauty. Purely as a result of my own erotic decisions I have not yet had time to enjoy the vision of Ellie’s body aid bare, and now, whenever I want, and at my command, she will pull down her panties and show me her poor spanked little ass. I say nothing for some seconds, my pussy flooding with the knowledge of what I can do.

“Pull down your panties for me, Ellie.” I can barely speak.

“Yes, miss.” Ellie reaches behind and, slipping her thumbs under the waistband of her panties, pulls her panties down to her knees. For her the act is simple, uncomplicated, if humiliating, and she can have little idea how dizzy I feel to have her ass offered to me like this.

Ellie’s creamy cheeks are perhaps just a little pink from my gentle spanking, certainly no real need for my ministrations, but that isn’t the point, is it? I drip a little oil into my hand and, as my palm gently touches her ass cheek she starts yet again. It seems my submissive young lover is nervous about my intentions towards her ass, and how right she is…

As I rub Ellie’s bottom I talk to her softly. “Does that feel good, Ellie? Soothing?”

“Yes, miss. Thank you, miss.”

“I didn’t spank you too hard, did I?” My fingers gently knead her ass.

“No, miss. It felt…good.”

I slip a finger down to Ellie’s sex and draw it lightly along her slit. My little slut is soaking.

“Oh, Ellie, my spanking made you wet, didn’t it?” Now one oily hand squeezes Ellie’s sore bum cheeks while the other teases around her pussy.

“Yes, miss.”

“Did it make you horny, poking your bum in the air and feeling me spank your ass?”

“Oh, yes, miss.” As in the department store, the hand that is fondling Ellie’s ass is drawn irresistibly to her ass crack, circling but always returning to that secret and forbidden crevice. Yet still I resist the temptation to explore down, between.

“Tell me how it felt, Ellie.”

“It felt sooo good, Miss.”

“What did?” Now my fingers are running repeatedly up and down Ellie’s ass crack. It takes all my will to stay there.

“Being spanked, miss. It felt good, you spanking my bum like that.”

“Of course it did. Do you like me playing games with your bottom, Ellie?”

“Yes, miss. Very much.”

I press my fingers down, so far that I am almost at the floor of the valley of her ass crack, almost touching her most private hole.

“Do you think you would like to cum, Ellie, while I play naughty games with your bottom?” My fingers pass oh so briefly across the firm little crater of Ellie’s asshole.

Ellie whispers. “Yesss…”


Ellie lies naked on the bed, face down. Both arms are underneath her body and her hands are busy between her legs, her lovely creamy bottom going up and down rhythmically.

I stand at the foot of the bed, gazing down the length of my young lover’s body. Yet again it is an exquisite tableau.

“Are you ready, Ellie?”

Her hands almost stop their urgent rubbing, but her arousal is so great that she is unable to resist a little surreptitious diddling.

“Yes, miss.”

“Ask me.”

“Please, miss, please…please make love to my bum.”

I kneel between Ellie’s legs. Normally when I am exploring a lover’s ass for the first time I like it to feel as extreme for them as possible, and a part of that is to get them to reveal themselves to me. But with Ellie things feel different, and I want her to experience the slow revelation that I did when my first female lover and I, who were both about nineteen at the time, discovered how exciting it was to love each other’s asses.

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