Emily

"This one is obviously yours" my sister grimaced as the next customer walked into the deceptively plush lobby of our workplace. Of course...it would be...because 'it' was very definitely a woman. Katie doesn't 'do' women. Well, I'll rephrase that, in case you're confused. Since my dad lost his gym, the house and about 95% of all our possessions to a couple of blood sucking banks after he went bankrupt, we've been a bit pushed for cash. Actually, thats not quite accurate. We've been basically destitute. We left the house about 3.5 seconds before the bailiffs broke down the front door and took possession of everything we owned. Well. apart from half my wardrobe (not the better half, unfortunately) and my fanny box, as Katie so charmingly puts it, We are not only homeless, but fucking potless too.

Luckily, my savings account book was in my jeans, as I'd just stuck £50 in there for my, now defunct, Uni fund, but apart from that, nothing...nada...nichts. Fuck all in any language on earth. And I did better than my siblings or my parents. Katie got out with just a handful of leopard print and two thongs. My brother James had his Play Station and five pairs of dirty football socks. God knows what my parents carried out to the car whilst the bailiffs were breaking in. Not much, thats for sure.

So here I am, together with my less conversational twin. Not taking a well earned gap year travelling, as planned (all those hot South American dykes will have to get by without me) but here, now, working in a seedy 'massage parlour' to hopefully earn enough to get us out of that cold, leaky caravan my dad found us after we got thrown out. Not that my parents actually know what Katie and I are having to do to make a living. They think this is a respectable establishment, specializing in reiki, aromatherapy and Swedish massage. Well, on the surface...it is. Katie knew this guy, who knew this woman...you get the picture. The guy nearly creamed his jeans when we turned up. How many times do we have to reiterate that being twins doesn't mean a: we shag each other nightly or b: we 'entertain' our sexual partners collectively. Jesus, YouPorn has a lot to answer for...not that I watch YouPorn much...XHamster has a far better ratio of lesbian movies...Oh fuck, did I say that out loud?

Anyway. We got hired on the spot, on the strict condition (on our part) that we wouldn't massage together. If the clients wanted to indulge their fucking filthy twin fantasies, fine, we're not acting them out. Full stop.

Wouldn't work anyway. Katie's straight, I'm gay...that's right 100% 'never want to even hold a cock' gay (and hasn't that worked out well, considering what I do for a living?). Have been since I was 14, or maybe even earlier, if my cute next door neighbour had been a bit more willing to play Nurse to my lady Doctor when I was 12. But enough of that. Katie gets most of the guys, and I get just the odd one and all of the spare women. Don't get carried away with the idea that its a pleasure...well not for us anyway. I suppose Katie gets the benefit of trial running a few erections during her working day, but to be honest, most of the guys and women who show up here for 'treatment' are pretty unattractive. Most are well into middle age, and inevitably the initial 'massage' soon turns into a request along the lines of 'Do you do ...extra's?' Yuk.

Well we all do, otherwise we might as well be working in Maccy Dees. Minimum wage and all the plastic burgers you can inhale. 'Extras' involves what you are probably thinking. I don't do anything more exotic than what is described charmingly as 'hand relief' and its easily as gruesome as you're probably imagining. Thank God for extra smooth, extra strong tissues and scented baby wipes. I'm pretty sure Katie is way better at it than me, but then she is playing to her strengths as it were. She probably disposes of the...results...more tidily too...I'm sure I saw a carton of extra strength mouthwash being hauled to her room yesterday...

Extras cost an 'extra' £20 per...activity. The punters pay £20 for the nominal massage, then upwards for whatever else the masseuse is prepared to offer. I might flash my not very impressive tits if a big enough bribe is put on the counter, but as far as participation is concerned, right hand only, arms length and "Here's a tissue mate, your mess, your problem". No touchee the Fitch merchandise is my mantra

So, if we entertain the average 10 punters a day, which is pretty normal, we get £15 of the extra. Tell me where I can earn £150 a day elsewhere, and I'll pack up my lace bustier and fuck off momentarily. Oh yeah, forgot to admit that little detail. Under our 'official' white button up uniform, we have to wear a black bustier, just in case (for that read every fucking time) a customer wants some visual stimulation while he's being...milked.

But I digress. Today Katie has just body swerved a female customer. Without even looking as the woman pays, I'm already undoing the top three buttons of my uniform, because even the female punters like to see some firm flesh before they open their wallets. I turn back to the pay desk with my normal plastic smile painted on ready to say hello..

And then I stop and my mouth falls open like a gallows trapdoor. Jesus H Christ on a bike. She's fucking gorgeous, my brain manages to squeak before expiring like a shot buffalo. Tall...well, taller than me at about 5'6", anyway, peroxide hair, but tastefully done, almost ash white, but not done over a home sink, thats for sure. It falls in soft waves over her shoulders and I take a moment to perv a bit as she's thumbing her PIN into the card reader. She smiles at the receptionist and I swear I had a mini there. Even white teeth, and a cute way of biting her bottom lip when she's asked a question. Don't ask me what the fucking question was, because at that second, she must have felt me staring, because she turned and looked at me quizzically. Now if I was having palpitations over her side view, I don't even know how to describe how I felt when I saw her eyes. Icy blue, with that dark ring round the irises which make them look wonderfully intense. Fuck...how was I gonna stay professional when she was looking up at me from my massage table...naked...waiting.

I'm cooked, I thought, put a fork in me and turn me over.

I only just stopped myself squeezing my legs together at that thought. Seeing as how she was still staring at me, I guess that would have been a bit of a give-away.

But dear Katie interrupted my reverie in her usual polite and considerate way.

"You might want to wait until you get her in private before your tongue does it's heat seeking bit" she whispered in my ear "God, obvious, much?"

Oh I did...I really did want to get her into my booth. I nearly rugby tackled Janice when the silly bitch looked round the reception area looking for volunteers.

"Err. I'll look after this lady" I said, stepping between the customer and Maggie, who was one of our other 'girl friendly' masseuses. No way was I missing an opportunity to for once have an attractive twenty something to work on. Sometimes this job does have its perks, I decided as I escorted her to my room.

I shut the door after her and motioned towards the paper covered leather table, probably the only piece of genuine quality in the whole place. She dropped her cream jacket on the chair by the door and I swooned a bit more. Oh Jesus, I thought, she has great tits too...I promise to say a few Hail Mary's tonight in thanks, honestly, father...

"Actually, I've never had a Swedish massage before" she said, and I realised it was the first time I had heard her say anything. Her voice was low and pleasant, something else to add to the plus column, I thought.

"Thats fine" I said without the usual uninterested drone I used with clients "I've given quite a few. Just put yourself in my hands, and I guarantee a pleasant experience"

Fuck, did I actually say that? She smirked cutely at me, and I lowered my eyes before I gave myself away. Pull yourself together Emily, I told myself, its just a fucking girl. Alright, she's drop dead gorgeous, and why the fuck she is in here, getting a massage in a seedy off street parlour is anyone's guess, but you need to be professional. "Get her number...get her number" my inner devil taunted me

"If you'd just go into that cubicle"...I nodded towards the corner where there was a curtained off changing area "And slip out of your clothes. There is a towel inside which you can use?"

She did as I asked, and I only spoke to God a couple of times before she came out. I didn't think He would grant me this wish, but it doesn't hurt to ask, does it?

When she did come out, I turned my eyes away before I fucking lost control completely. Not only was she only just wearing that small towel, but those long legs seemed to go on for ever. If I have a type...and I'm guessing you have worked that little puzzle out already, she was probably top of my list. Blonde, blue eyes, tall, slim but with killer tits and about three years older than me. Tick, tick, tick went my mental check boxes. Why couldn't I have met her on Saturday night, in a club, where I could have plied her with alcohol and had my wicked way with her in a proper bed afterwards?

Because she's here, now, semi naked and waiting for you to string a coherent sentence together, my mind nagged me. Get a fucking grip, before she loses patience and finds another, English speaking masseuse.

"If you'd lie there, on the massage table, and lay the towel, just across...there, to preserve your modesty...I'll start" I said, not looking at all when she stared up at me, the towel now across her middle, unfortunately covering those magnificent tits and all points south.

I started slowly, with long strokes on her legs, easing the tension in them and only sweating slightly at the thought that her...fanny...was inches from my scented fingers. I used the minimum of oils, because I wanted to feel her skin under my hands. She laid there, breathing evenly and staring at the ceiling impassively. I was a bit disappointed to be honest. If there was ever a time when I wanted a client to ask for extra's and quickly... this was it. My brain was screaming at me "What are you going to say if she asks for...oral treatment, Emily Fitch?"

The answer to that was in my increased breathing and heart rate. What would I do? Have three guesses, they'd all be spot on. In a second, I answered myself... I bet she tastes just as good as she looks. She felt wonderful, tight silky skin and muscle underneath and I started to enjoy this massage more than was strictly necessary. I knew the clock was ticking...we usually timed 'sessions' at 20 minutes, because most guys would be limp and post coitally embarrassed by then. But this was different, on all sorts of levels. I ignored the clock. As long as it takes, I thought...as long as it fucking takes.

Minutes passed.

"Err...Do you do...extras?" she said, breaking my concentration wonderfully.

I thought for a second my ears were playing tricks on me, and I stared at her stupidly for a second or two

"W..what?" I said eventually

"Extras?" she repeated, as if I was educationally challenged "Do you offer them?"

"Only for special clients" I said, still not entirely sure if she was asking for what I thought she was asking for "It costs quite a bit more" I added, dumbly

"Oh that's fine" she smiled, and I promised another twenty 'Our Fathers' to whoever was looking down on me today "I can pay whatever it costs"

For you, nothing is too much trouble, I thought, and as far as money is concerned, I would fucking pay you if necessary.

"What sort of things do you offer?" she smiled cheekily, and I bit my own bottom lip this time, which she noticed immediately.

"Well" I started and then thought...it sounds a bit cold blooded just saying it like a shopping list, why don't I demonstrate?

"There's this" I said quietly, and pulled her towel off completely. She gasped a bit, but stayed still as I hungrily took in her naked body. My nipples were as hard as they had ever been, and I knew my thong would be soaked through too.

"And this" I smiled and unbuttoned my uniform, dropping it onto the floor. I saw her eyes widen at the bustier, which pushed my tits up perfectly, and inwardly cheered that it had that exact effect on her.

"And this" I said in a whisper and began to carefully and slowly caress and squeeze those beautiful breasts. She did that lip biting thing again and I watched her eyes widen even more. Her nipples were standing up proudly, and my thumbs found them automatically, circling and rubbing them. I spent a good two minutes just enjoying the heaviness and firmness of them. Jesus, she has great tits, I almost drooled.

"And this" I said finally pushing her legs apart gently and sliding both hands up towards the place I assumed we both wanted them to be.

She closed her legs before I got there and said in a voice as shaky as it was excited

"Shouldn't we agree a price for these...extra's first?" she said, looking me straight in the eyes.

Fuck it, I thought. Cards on the table. I was as excited as she was, and I wasn't going to be happy until I had her...properly. Fuck the money, fuck my boss. The door was locked and no one was gonna interrupt this.

"There's absolutely no charge for this...err...? I'd say its a pleasure, but that would be the understatement of the year. You might not have noticed, but you aren't the only one excited here. I fancy you like...fierce"

She looked at me steadily for a moment before relaxing her leg muscles.

"It's Naomi" she said slowly "And that's a real pity..."

I stared at her in disbelief. She was going to say no to a 'free one' What the fuck?

"Did I do something wrong?" I stuttered as she sat up and jumped off the table in one move, making for the cubicle and her clothes.

"No" she said from inside, as I heard the rusting of clothes being criminally put back on that spectacular body. Seconds later she emerged, fully dressed and suddenly all business,

"Its... Emily...isn't it?" she said, glancing at my name badge on the uniform I had hastily put back on while she was changing. Suddenly I didn't feel so brave.

"Yeah" I said sadly "And I meant it. You're fucking gorgeous, and I would have offered you what you wanted for nothing. Sorry if you found me unattractive"

She smiled at me with something like real warmth as she waited for me to unlock the door.

"On the contrary" she said "I find you very attractive. Too attractive to do what I was supposed to do to you today. Look, could we meet up after you finish here? I know a place, down the High Street...Italian...Francesco's I think its called...shall we say 8ish?"

Fucking hell...she's asking me out on a date, I thought. I nodded as she handed me a card and swept out of the door. The door slammed behind her and it was a few seconds before I looked down at it.

'Naomi Campbell – Journalist – Bristol Post' It said.

Fuck...