The Code

Allie considered herself a professional.

Massage therapist was in fact her second career. Three years ago, she'd turned her life upside down. She'd parted ways with her husband. She'd sold out of her partnership in what had once been a solicitors firm but now was called a "boutique legal services consultancy." She decided to travel the world.

Of these three changes, her divorce had the least impact. She and Ben had barely interacted for years by then.

Alone in the Far East, she'd spent time discovering herself. Her likes and her dislikes, her wants and her needs. She was, she felt, too mature for dreams and ambitions.

Massage was something she'd stumbled into. A group therapy session at a yoga retreat. She'd liked the feeling of another person's skin under her fingers. Moulding it like clay. The satisfaction of soothing body and spirit, and the pleasant tiredness in her own body after.

And so she'd travelled and studied. Thailand and Vietnam. Japan. A cold month in Vladivostok, learning about birch rods and nettles from a short man with large hands called Dmitri. India next, and Sri Lanka. Kenya, to study rhythmic pounding and chanting, and Timbuktu just because she'd always wanted to visit. A long period in Colombia, where she'd been introduced to some strange herbs and the delights of uninhibited group sex. Lastly, she'd gone to LA, where a guru claimed to understand the ultimate massage techniques, but in fact mostly wanted to grope naked bodies.

She'd returned home, found a flat, adopted a cat and looked for a job. It didn't take long. Hester was looking for a new therapist for her salon, and was impressed by Allie's long résumé. She was also happy to have a more mature therapist. "The girls these days," she confided to Allie as they were signing her contract, "they're too flighty. No sense of responsibility. Half of them are looking for a rich husband, the other half are only doing this until they become TikTok famous."

Now Allie's first week was almost done. She got on well with her colleagues. Hester was happy. Her clients were happy. Allie was happy too, she realised, for the first time perhaps in her entire adult life.

Yes, Allie considered herself a professional. So when Mrs Lidham, lying on her back with towels covering her face, breasts and waist, had taken Allie's hand and guided it beneath the towel, Allie had smoothly pulled her hand away and murmured, "I'm so sorry. We don't provide that service."

Mrs Lidham hadn't given up, though. Allie had spent the last ten minutes of the session gently removing hands from her arse and thighs, and once even from her tits. The uniforms that Hester provided were of a soft cream wool, but not cut to flatter. Still, Allie was aware of her form, and she knew that the trousers hugged her hips and the jacket seemed to emphasise the swell of her chest. She'd been quite pleased when she'd first tried it on -- it suited her better than the younger girls.

Fortunately, Mrs Lidham hadn't been upset or offended. She'd left a nice tip and told Hester that she'd had a lovely massage. As she turned to leave, she winked at Allie and ran her tongue suggestively over her lips.

"You seem to have made a friend," Hester remarked.

Allie blushed. Her days of innocence were long since behind her, and she'd been with women before. But she was still trying to prove herself here, and she didn't want Hester to think she was unprofessional, or flighty.

The truth was that she'd been too busy, too caught up in everything, for anything sexual since she'd arrived back home. All the practicalities of settling in, then finding a job. Finding the right brand of cat food that didn't earn her an accusing glare and a sigh. This past week she'd been too focused on doing everything right to even think about anything sensual.

But with her first week almost at its close, her client's casual attempt at seduction had woken a deep need inside her. Her body had responded, even if she'd been firm -- with Mrs Lidham and herself both.

Her face must have betrayed something of what she was thinking, because Hester gave a laugh and put her arms around her. "Oh my dear, don't worry. Kitty Lidham is a beautiful woman, and a shocking flirt. You'll get used to it." Letting go of Allie, she stepped back, and added in more serious tones, "Just remember the code of conduct. No messing around with clients during working hours."

Allie wasn't likely to forget. She was a professional, wasn't she? A glance at the clock told her that it was nearly quarter to five. Almost time to close shop. Straight home, she thought, feed the cat, and then I'll have a good old wank. In her mind she ran through her collection of toys, wondering which one she'd use.

Hester glanced up at the clock too. "Look at the time!" she exclaimed. "I have to leave. I promised to help prepare for the kids' school play tonight." She grabbed her phone and handbag.

"Listen, Allie, would you mind closing up today? I know you're new, but the other girls... Well, I trust you to be more responsible. They keep forgetting the code, for a start."

Forgetting the code? Allie was shocked. But that's... it's illegal! And improper!

Hester was by the door already. "Zoltan should be the last one in today, at five. Could you do him? The girls say he's why they keep forgetting the code. Well, he's gorgeous, but that's still no excuse. Look, I've got to run. Send the girls home when they're done. And text me if you need anything -- like if the sight of Zoltan drives the code from your mind!"

With a laugh and a waive she was out of the door, leaving Allie perplexed.

The girls -- Anika and Debs -- soon finished with their clients and started clearing up. They were just about to leave when the front door opened and a god walked in.

Allie had travelled all over the world, and seen lots of gorgeous men. There had been actors and wannabe actors in LA. Muscled giants in Africa, brooding Russians, smooth-skinned Asians. Working in the City, she'd rubbed shoulders with the rich, powerful, smart set. The man who walked in now combined that aura of power with ravishing looks and a marvellous physique.

Dark ringlets and a neatly trimmed beard framed a caramel-coloured face that was dominated by a fierce nose. Piercing green eyes looked calmly through a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, and red lips split into a smile, revealing immaculate white teeth.

He was wearing a tailored suit -- an expensive one, if Allie was any judge -- of light grey wool, over a burgundy shirt with the collar unbuttoned. He filled it out magnificently: broad, square shoulders, a narrow waist and strong thighs. Usually Allie wasn't a big fan of these modern trousers that clung to a man's legs, but just now she was very grateful to whoever had invented them.

He was speaking, she realised, and hastily dragged her mind back to the present. Fortunately he was addressing the girls, much to their evident delight.

"Good day to you, ladies. How have you been?" The deep voice was modulated and precise, the accent cultured but not posh. Allie felt a shiver run down her spine and settle between her legs.

Debs was simpering, and Anika had stepped forward to touch his arm. That brought Allie back to her senses completely. "You must be Zoltan," she said calmly. Her years in the City had prepared her for just this moment. "I'll take care of you today. Hester had to leave early, and these two were just going." Her stern frown told them that yes, they were going.

Twin green fires turned towards her. Somewhere her mind registered that his smile had broadened. The chocolate-and-honey voice spoke again. "That will be lovely. Hester texted a moment ago that I would be in very capable hands with you."

Smiling, hoping she wasn't blushing, Allie directed him towards the treatment room. When she turned back, the girls were giggling and waggling their eyebrows suggestively. She shooed them out, telling them to behave over the weekend, or at least enjoy themselves. They waived their farewells and left, Anika whispering over her shoulder, "Remember, there's a code of conduct. No naughty stuff while you're on the clock."

Allie shut the door behind them and made her way to the treatment room. It shouldn't be a problem, she told herself. So what if he's gorgeous? So what if my body is yearning for someone to touch me, to run those strong hands over my body? To press those red lips against mine, or on my skin, my tits, between my legs... No! With an almost physical effort she dragged her mind back. I'm a professional. I'm not like those silly girls who don't know how to behave. I signed the code of conduct, and that's that. No funny business, Allie.

Her resolve lasted only until she stepped into the treatment room. Zoltan was lying face down, with only a towel covering his arse. The legs were as firm and toned as his suit had promised, and the muscles in his broad back and shoulders were defined, but not exaggerated. The towel showed a pleasing roundness too. Allie coughed to cover what might have been a whimper.

"Is there any area in particular you'd like me to focus on?" she asked, eyeing his smooth, tawny skin.

He raised his head a little to glance over his shoulder. "Lower back, please. I spend all day sitting at a desk. And legs, if you have time."

Of course he was going to say that, Allie thought. Well, at least I have an excuse now.

His body felt as good as it looked, as she rubbed warm oil over his shoulders and back. She concentrated hard on her technique, trying to envision the muscles under the skin as if looking at an anatomical drawing. It seemed to work.

Still, he'd specifically requested his lower back. And his legs. Reluctantly she turned her attention lower, to where his back curved up into his arse. She spied a hint of his crack beneath the towel. Remember the code, Allie, remember the code.

The muscles of his lower back were as finely developed as the rest, with only a few knots. She rubbed them with oil until they were warm, squeezing his flesh between her fingers. There's that one spot there, she recalled. It's not just a tantric thing. The Thais use it as a pressure point too.

Pushing the towel down slightly, so that the top inch of that perfect arse was revealed, she ran her hands further down his back. Then she let the fingers of one hand rest in his crack while the other continued to press against his muscles.

He gave a slight grunt, then another when she added pressure. "Is this alright for you?" she murmured. "A technique from Thailand. There's a pressure point here."

"No, it's good," he replied. His voice sounded a little strangled.

She continued to press, switching hands after a while to work the other side of his back. His arse felt lovely.

Having Zoltan's arse in her hands reminded her of Vladivostok. Of Dmitri and his large hands. Of the evenings spent with him and his friend -- she'd never caught his name -- in the steam bath, belabouring each other with birch and nettle. Of the time she'd taken their cocks in her hands. Of feeling their hands on her tits, her thighs, her arse. Of taking one -- was it Dmitri? -- in her mouth while the other entered her from behind. Of feeling helpless, empowered, mighty as they thrust away and she responded.

Stop that! she chided herself. She could feel the familiar tingling starting in her breasts, between her legs. You're a professional. Focus on the music.

For a while that helped. The soothing, monotonous tones brought her into a state of relaxation that was almost trance-like. She let her hands glide over Zoltan's skin, feeling the contours of his muscles and identifying the knots.

It was like that ashram in India, she thought. Strong incense, the sound of a sitar far in the distance. The perpetual heat, and sweat-beaded skin. Aisha's brown body beneath her hands, supple and pliant, her dark eyes gazing up. The full lips parting, herself leaning down to kiss them and her hand slipping between the girl's legs to feel her folds, to glide along her slit...

Suddenly Allie realised that her finger was almost at Zoltan's arsehole. Catching herself before she jerked her hand away, she instead let it slide smoothly up towards his back. "Turn over," she murmured in his ear, trying to make her voice sound cool and professional -- but hoping even so that it was sensuous. The code! Remember the code!

She looked away as he turned over -- she was a professional, and besides, the wooden door was polished to a high gleam -- and carefully rearranged the towel when he was done. She tried not to stare. If anything, the towel was bulging even more on this side than when it had covered his shapely arse.

Was that my fingers? she wondered. Or is that all him?

Hurriedly she remembered to place a warm towel over his face. She took the opportunity to lean forward and inhale his scent. Perhaps her tits brushed against his chest as she did so. That was surely an accident, right? There was nothing in the code about accidents.

She focused her attention on his legs. First the one, then the other. The caramel skin had a light covering of short, curly hairs. She tried not to picture what the hairs around his cock were like -- and then had to repeat her mantra because she'd started to picture his cock. The code, the code, remember the code. The code, the code, remember the code.

By facing away from his waist, angling her body towards his feet, she was able to maintain her composure. How much longer? she asked herself. Has an hour ever lasted this long?

A quick glance at the timer set up discretely in the corner told her she still had two minutes to go. Two minutes on the clock.

She turned around and began to rub up his thigh. Was that her imagination, or did the towel just twitch? She rubbed some more. No, definitely a twitch. It matched the twitch in her own knickers.

One minute... She kept her gaze focused on the timer. Thirty seconds... Her fingers were beneath the edge of the towel, she noticed. And another twitch. Twenty seconds. She ran her hands up between his thighs. She felt her fingers brush against something hairy. Ten seconds. A few more rubs, then she leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

"Lie still. This is on the house." It was past six o'clock, so screw the code.

He jerked his head up as her hand grasped his cock. Bloody hell! she thought. It's even bigger than I expected. It's huge! The damp towel slipped from his face to reveal eyes opened wide.

The hot shaft -- already swollen, she was flattered to notice -- barely fit in her hand. She tried to wrap her fingers around it, and they made it just past half way. If she hadn't been so horny by now that she was beyond caring, she'd have been daunted. As it was, she relished the feel, rubbing herself against his chest as she felt him grow harder and harder in her hand.

The second towel slipped to the floor, revealing for the first time his heavy, pulsing meat. It wasn't the largest she'd ever handled -- Vietnam supplied that memory, surprisingly -- but it was just what her body was yearning for right now.

Bending down, she opened her mouth wide and engulfed his swollen head. It barely fit, but she let her jaw relax and slid his cock further in. It stretched her, almost suffocated her. The musky scent filled her, mingling with the aroma of the oil she'd rubbed into his thighs and, more distantly, the incense in the corner.

After a moment she felt a hand slide up her leg to her arse. She wiggled in invitation, and the hand moved round to grope at the button of her trousers. It was a strong, capable hand, and in moments she was kicking off her sneakers and stepping out of the soft material.

The fingers continued to explore, finding their way over her knickers and along her mound. Her breath caught at his touch.

Normally, she'd have let him go slowly, but in her eagerness and her worry about being caught -- despite not technically breaking the code -- she hurriedly pulled her knickers off her hips and stepped out of them. She was quite proud that she didn't once let that lovely cock slip out of her mouth. She barely even stopped teasing it with her tongue.

Now his hand had clear access, and she felt his fingers slide over her folds and press against her entrance. She was already slick from desire, and a fingertip slipped easily inside her. Unable to supress a moan, she spread her legs wider, welcoming him in. Instead, the fingertip only played with her entrance, making circles and occasionally probing slightly before retreating.

She tried pressing herself down onto it, but it just slid away and teased her clit instead. Giving a muffled moan of frustration, she clambered up onto the massage bench and positioned herself over his face. That meant letting go of that delicious cock, but sacrifices had to be made.

If he had any concerns about eating out a strange woman, and one who'd been working all day at that, he didn't let them show. She felt his hands, warm and strong, grasp her arse and pull her down. At the same instant his lips clamped onto her clit and his tongue began a sudden assault on it.

For a moment she leaned her head on his thigh and let herself enjoy it. The sensations ripping through her, so familiar yet so new, were making her moan and gasp. She clasped his rock-hard cock with one hand, and wondered whether it was for his pleasure or to steady herself.

Then she pushed herself upright and unbuttoned her jacket with trembling fingers. The T-shirt beneath and her bra followed quickly, and she was as naked as he was. Her breasts were glad to be free, and she teased her nipples, pinching them and pulling them out, relishing the combination of pleasure and pain that this brought.

It was clear that Zoltan knew what he was doing. His fingers probed gently at her entrance while his lips and tongue massaged her clit. Just enough to draw sighs of pleasure from her without awakening a climax just yet.

Even through all this pleasure, that magnificent cock was calling to her. It was rigid, swollen and dark, the head shining from her saliva -- and from his own clear liquid, she saw, as a drop formed and slithered down to where her fingers were wrapped around his shaft.

She clamped her lips on it, sucking it up, savouring its sweetness. Then she took his whole head into her mouth again. Like Zoltan was doing with her, she teased just enough to give pleasure without starting anything she didn't want to finish just yet.

Any thoughts of holding off her own orgasm fled moments later, though. One of the large, firm hands on her arse shifted its grip, and suddenly she felt a finger glide softly between her cheeks. A moan escaped around the cock in her mouth as her hole began to tingle in response to the gentle touch.

Clearly he took that as encouragement, because the fingertip began to probe at her arse while his lips continued to suck at her clit. She felt a gentle pressure and let it enter. The man knew how to treat a lady, she realised, when the fingertip barely penetrated her, just teased and stretched her ring.

By now her climax was making its inevitable way from tiny spark to explosion. She let his cock slip from her mouth, felt her jaw ache dully, knew it would be worse tomorrow. She didn't care.

She focused on feeling the flame within her grow, blossom. She and Zoltan were artists working in unison: he stoked the fires with his lips and fingertip, she contained and moulded them, keeping the pressure on and letting it build up higher and higher.

Then Zoltan sucked hard on her clit. At the same time he pressed a second finger against her arse and pushed.