Once more, Susan found herself walking back from school, walking along Mrs. Foster’s road, just like yesterday. She wondered if she had the nerve to knock on her door. She was sure that if she didn’t have to retrieve her clothes, she would chicken out, despite the fact that she found her so friendly and welcoming. Her birthday had turned out to be a bit of a non-event. Her Mommy had given her a nice gold necklace and had bought a cake, and had promised a little family celebration, but Susan didn’t expect much. She’d had a coffee and a cake with a couple of friends from school the previous lunchtime, but that was about it. She’d looked at the little dress this morning but hadn’t dared put it on. Eventually, she came to the house, but hesitated to go any further. She stood there, stuck, for a while, and was about to carry on home when Mrs. Foster poked her head out of a window and called her to come in.
Melissa had been watching for the girl for about 20 minutes. She’d watched her about to keep walking and had seized the moment and called her to the house. She watched her come towards the house, her walk even more despondent than usual. She put on a bright cheery face and opened the door. “Come in, Susan, let’s sit down and have a chat over a cool glass of lemonade.”
“Well, I just came to collect my clothes – all they all done?”
“Yes, of course,” said Melissa, “but there’s plenty of time for that later, come in and tell me why you look so miserable!”
“It’s nothing really…”
“Don’t give me that, I know you well enough, even after such a short while, that I can tell something is wrong. Tell me!” Melissa said, rather forcibly, is seemed, to Susan’s ears.
Susan started hesitantly, “Well, it was my birthday the day before yesterday, I’m eighteen, and it just seems so anticlimactic.”
“Your 18th Birthday! Well, belated congratulations! But why are you so unhappy?”
Susan continued, “Well, the birthday wasn’t much and when I look into the future, it just seems so…hopeless.”
“Well, we can’t have that, we must celebrate! I’ll open a bottle of Champagne!”
“Oh,” said Susan, “I couldn’t do that, I’ve never drank Champagne before.”
“If a woman can’t drink Champagne to celebrate her birthday, then there’s something not right with the world. Go out to the garden, sit down, and I’ll be right back.” So saying, Melissa pushed Susan towards the back door, and Susan found herself sitting at the same heavy table she had helped Mrs. Foster to move yesterday. Mrs. Foster called her a woman. Was she really a woman now? Somehow, she didn’t feel it. She sat musing about what happened yesterday, and the memory of herself in that little dress, especially with nothing on underneath, sent a shiver through her body, which went straight to ‘down there’.
Melissa, bustled out from the house carrying a tray with a bottle of Champagne and two crystal tulip Champagne glasses. She popped the cork and caught the foaming champagne in one glass, then the other. “A toast to a beautiful woman, at the threshold of adulthood! May you always have Champagne on your birthday! Cheers!” Susan drank quickly to hide her embarrassment. The bubbles went up her nose as the wine went down her throat, and she was sure she’d tasted nothing so wonderful.
Melissa topped up the girl’s glass and over the next hour, she’d kept up a lively conversation with the girl. She could see her gradually succumb to the effects of the wine – Champagne could always sneak up on you unawares. She noticed that the girl was shifting uncomfortably in her seat, and she asked what was wrong. “I think I must have strained some muscles yesterday, moving this table – I’m a bit sore.”
“Oh dear, I’m so sorry! I keep myself quite fit – I have a fitness room here, and I spend rather a lot of time in there when I’m bored. I never thought about you not being used to such physical activity, I’m so sorry! Let me make it up to you, I can give you a therapeutic massage that’ll melt those aches and pains away.”
“Oh, it’s not that bad, really, I’ll be OK.”
“Please say yes, I feel so awful, we’ll both feel better, and I never get a chance to practice my art anymore.”
If it wasn’t for the effects of the wine, Susan would have run off as fast as she could, but she was feeling a bit woozy and pliant and when she said, “Well…”, Mrs. Foster immediately went into action and helped her up and guided her back into the house and into the fitness room. The woman’s arms around her felt very comforting to Susan. When Mrs. Foster told her to get undressed, Susan was overcome by shyness, but the women told her that she was a professional and should trust her completely.
“Here, I’ll help you off with your things, lie face down on the table and you can place these little towels over your privates.” Susan still hesitated, but with the effects of the wine and her no-nonsense attitude, Mrs Foster soon had her out of her clothes and lying on the massage table.
Melissa started with warm oil drizzled onto the girls back, and she soon felt the girl relax as she deeply massaged her shoulders and back. She moved down to her feet and started to slowly massage her legs, gradually moving up to her thighs. As she neared the little towel over her bottom, she felt tiny movements from the girl, unconsciously pushing her bottom towards her masseuse’s hands. Just what she’d been hoping for! Everything was going to plan. “Do you mind if I remove the towel? I need to work your gluteal muscles.”
“N…No…I suppose…” answered Susan hesitantly. The wine, the massage, she was in heaven!
Melissa removed the towel and dripped oil over her bottom and started massaging it deeply. “She needs more muscle tone, especially here,” thought Melissa. She continued to massage, getting nearer to her pussy, but carefully avoiding any direct contact. The girl was unknowingly spreading her legs a little and arching her bottom upwards. Melissa could see her pussy lips through a sparse covering of hair, which was already matted with her juices. Not wanting to take it too far at this stage, she asked Susan to turn over so she could do her front. Susan was loathe to have the wonderful massage interrupted, but turned over, clutching towels in each hand to cover her breasts and sex, and blushing strongly. Melissa stated off slowly on her shoulders, gradually moving down her chest until she was caressing the upper slopes of her breasts. At each pass, the towel slipped further and further, until it had slipped off completely. Susan was gradually aware that the woman was now frankly massaging her breasts. She was embarrassed, but the feeling of her soft hands dragging across her sensitive nipples was so nice that she convinced herself that as a professional masseuse, Mrs. Foster must know what she was doing. The stimulation of her nipples was sending pulses of sensation to ‘down there’, and she was grateful for the remaining towel covering what she was sure to be her very wet sex.
Mellissa could feel through her hands and hear the small gasps that signalled increasing arousal in the girl. She left the girl’s turgid nipples and placed both hands around the front of one thigh and made a slow pass upwards. She had angled her wrist so that at the end of each upstroke, the edge of her forearm pressed down over the girl’s mound. At each stroke, the girl let out a quiet moan.
Susan was aware that Mrs Foster was accidently brushing her sex with her arm every time she massaged her leg. It was causing an incredibly powerful, but nice, sensation that seemed to grow stronger and stronger every second. A deep and powerful tension was building in her belly and she felt that if the woman didn’t stop soon something terrible would happen. At the same time, she felt powerless to do anything about it. Melissa had almost stopped massaging the girl’s legs, and her wrist was rhythmically rubbing the girl’s pussy only. It wouldn’t be long now. Suddenly, the tension that was building in Susan suddenly broke in a sheet of white light that shot straight from her sex and burst through her brain. She let out a scream, low and deep, then again and again. Eventually, she curled in and hugged herself, bursting into tears, sobbing desperately. Melissa hugged the girl to her, caressed her arms and held her close.
“What’s wrong, my pet? Whatever is the matter?”
Through her sobbing, Susan tried to apologise, for having what was obviously one of those orgasms. She was obviously sick in the head, dear Mrs. Foster was only trying to help her, and she’d ruined everything by having her first cum at the hands of an almost-stranger!
“Was that your first orgasm, Susan?”
Susan hung her head in shame. “Yes, Mrs. Foster.”
“Now, listen to me, Susan. My name is Melissa and I want to be your friend. You have nothing to be ashamed of, it’s all perfectly natural. It used to happen all the time with my clients when I was working. I won’t have you feeling you’ve done something wrong!”
Through her tears, Susan looked at Mrs. Foster: “No. Melissa…” she thought wondrously, hope in her eyes, “But…”
“I’ll hear no more of any shame over this, Susan, is that clear? But I think we need to talk, you and I.”
“Yes, Melissa.” said Susan meekly.
“Have you never masturbated?” Susan panicked and looked blank. “Jilled off, rubbed yourself between your legs?”
She started slowly and reluctantly. “I’ve tried a couple of times, when I’ve heard other girls talking, but I feel so guilty! It starts off nice, but the better it feels the more guilt I have. I just give up.”
“Does your boyfriend not get you off?”
Susan blushed, “I’ve never had a boyfriend, I’m not pretty enough.”
“Oh Susan, you could be so beautiful! You just need a little help.”
“What sort of help?” said Susan.
“You need a full structured toning exercise regime, some help with grooming – I can show you how to take the best care of your skin, give you a decent haircut… Let me be your personal trainer!”
“Oh, Melissa, I couldn’t impose on you like that, it wouldn’t be right!”
“Susan, please do this for me! I need a friend; I need purpose in my life and I need to practice my beautician’s skills.”
Leave a Reply