Chapter 4 of Damascus, my smutty novel in progress. "Slavegirl Belinda Gets a Massage"

 

CHAPTER 4: SLAVEGIRL BELINDA GETS A MASSAGE

 

     Time?  Already?  “Now?” I said incredulously.  “You’re just going to take me out there naked in front of a room full of men?”  My voice rose towards hysteria.  “And they molest me and then one of them fucks me?”

 

     Heath raised his hand as if he was going to slap me, but Tonna stepped between us.  “No, sweetie,” she said, giving Heath a look.  “You’ll just be getting ready.” She asked Heath, “Is Ricky doing it, sir?” 

 

     Heath ignored her.  “Let’s go,” he said to me. 

 

     Tonna gave me a quick hug.  I smiled tremulously and hugged her back.  And then I followed Heath.

 

     He took me back down to the first floor and into a room behind the ballroom.  He left me there without a word, shutting the door behind him.

 

     How many of these small rooms were there in Damascus?  This one could have been another doctor’s office, but the examination table was in the middle of the room and didn’t have stirrups.  Instead it had an odd loop, like an angel’s halo, at the far end.

 

     A door opened on the ballroom side of the room.  A man peered in.  He was short, and his auburn hair, bright blue eyes and red cheeks made him seem vaguely leprechaun-like.  “You must be Belinda,” he said. “I’m Ricky.” He broke into a huge grin and almost bounced across the room to me.  I shrank back. “Oh,” he said softly. “Do you know why you’re here?”

 

     Why was he asking me this?  “Because of my father,” I said.  “He ran up a debt to the mob.”

 

     I could tell that Ricky was trying not to laugh. “You sweet thing,” he said.  “I didn’t mean do you know why you’re here in Damascus. I meant do you know why you’re  here in this room, with me.”  I shook my head.  “No wonder you’re terrified, then.” He held up his hands, his palms facing me.   “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m a masseur.” 

 

     “A master?” I said.

 

     Now he did laugh, quietly.  “A masseur.  A massage therapist.  It’s my job to make you feel good.”  He looked eager, like a puppy dog.  I couldn’t help smiling a little.

 

     His face lit up again.  “There,” he said.   His eyes crinkled when he grinned. 

 

     He took a white sheet out of a cabinet and laid it on the examining table. He patted it.  “Come sit and we’ll talk.”  He grinned again, as if the chance to talk to me was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him. 

 

     I scooted up onto the table.  Ricky sat on a wheeled stool in front of me.  “Have you ever had a massage before, sweetie?”

 

     I shook my head.  Then I remembered what Vincenzo had told me, about answering out loud.  “No, sir,” I said.

 

     Ricky grinned again.  “How about a shoulder rub?  Something you and your friends would do?”  Involuntarily I shrank back.  “Tell me,” he said, looking serious now.  “The more I know the better I can make this experience for you.” 

 

     I didn’t want to share something so personal with a stranger. Ricky sat perfectly still.  He had the kindest face I had ever seen.  It was so strange that in this terrible place, this place I had been sold to, this place where I was nothing but a slave, that in the course of a single afternoon I had met so many people who I . . .  trusted?  It was an odd feeling. 

 

     I cleared my throat.  “My oldest brother, Jeremy, used to squeeze my shoulders so hard that I thought he would do permanent damage to me.  I would have a headache for hours after.” 

 

     “Oh, sweetie,” Ricky said.  He was quiet for a minute as I fought the memory of home.  But I had left home behind.  Maybe not entirely voluntarily, certainly not triumphantly.  But I had made a choice.  I no longer lived with Jeremy or Mark, my other brother.  I never had to see them again. 

 

     Ricky squeezed my hand.  “I can’t tell you that nothing like that will ever happen to you here, in Damascus,” he said. “But not in this room, and not from me.  If I do anything that hurts you, you tell me and I stop.  Okay?”  I nodded.  “Now, do you want me to explain to you what I’m going to do, or do you want to just experience it?”

 

     “I’m not sure,” I said.

 

     Again, he flashed his grin like that was the best news he had ever heard.  “Then why don’t we get started,” he said, “and if you want to know anything as we go, you ask me.”  He patted the table where I was sitting and told me to lay down on my stomach.  My face went into the weird loop at the end, and I was staring at the floor.  He arranged my arms so that they were at my side.  He pulled my hair into two high, loose pigtails.  “Sometime I’ll give you a scalp rub,” he said, “but Kaylee would kill me if I messed up your hair today.” 

 

     And then his hands were on my shoulders.  I tensed, and he stopped.  “What do you do if I hurt you?” he asked.

 

     It took me a moment to understand his question.  “I tell you to stop,” I said.

 

     “And then what will I do?”

 

     “You’ll stop.”

 

     He waited while I relaxed my shoulders. And then I felt something liquid hit them. It made me jump.  “Just oil,” Ricky said.  More of the oil, and then his hands were sliding over my upper back.  “Anything hurt?” he said.

 

     “No, sir.”

 

     “I’m going to go a little deeper now,” he said, and his fingers pressed into my shoulders muscles.  I forced myself to not hunch up.  It took me a minute to realize that it didn’t hurt. After a while he moved his hands down my back, pressing and squeezing. He pushed his thumbs down next to my spine, which was a weird, almost ticklish feeling. 

 

     He moved slowly down to my lower back, gently pressing.  And then on my butt.  Involuntarily I tried to squirm away.  “Am I hurting you, sweetie?” Ricky asked.

 

     “No, sir,” I said.  “But . . .”  And then I remembered that he could touch me wherever he wanted.  He could do anything he wanted to me. 

 

     He moved his hands back up to my shoulders, and his thumb made deep circles.  He was pressing more firmly than before, but it still didn’t hurt.  After a while, like before he moved his hands slowly down my back.  Like before, when he reached my butt I squirmed.  He moved his hands back up to my shoulders again.  I realized it felt good.  Better than good.  I was floating. 

 

     Again his hands began their slow journey down my back.  This time, when he reached my butt, I didn’t squirm.  He squeezed my ass cheeks like they were any other muscle.  It still felt good, but also something more.  A warm ache started in my pussy.  Ricky nudged my legs apart, and then his oil-covered thumbs were between them. He squeezed and rubbed, his fingers curving around my bottom, his thumbs in my crack.  I was frozen.  I was mortified by how good it felt. 

 

     The tip of his thumb touched my asshole.  He didn’t push in, but he didn’t move it away. He continued to massage my butt cheeks.  The ache in my pussy grew.  And then Ricky’s other thumb moved lower down, to my crotch. I made a little sound, almost a whimper.  When I did, Ricky lifted his hands away from me.  I made that little sound again.  “You’re doing great, sweetie,” Ricky said. 

 

     Now his hands to the top of my left leg. He squeezed my inner thigh, and a finger just barely brushed the tip of my clitoris.  I tensed, but he moved his hands down, as slow as before, covering the back of my leg with oil as he went. 

 

     He reached my knee and kept going.  When he started rubbing my calf it was like nothing I had ever felt before. I swear I mewled like a kitten as I anticipated his movements.  And when he came to my foot it was even better. It was sexual and not sexual at the same time; mostly it was wonderful.  “That’s it,” Ricky said. “Let all the tension drain out of you.”

 

     I don’t know how long he continued massaging my foot.  It didn’t really register with me when he stopped, or when he started massaging my butt again.  But then his thumb was on my asshole once more, and his other thumb was a little below my pussy, on my slit, not moving, just resting there.  I couldn’t help it – I rolled my hips, trying to increase his contact.  He made a soothing sound and moved his hands down to my right leg.

 

     This time, when I knew what to expect, it felt even better as he worked his way down my leg.  When his thumbs started on the ball of my foot I said out loud, “Oh, yes, please.”

 

     And then, an even more incredible sensation. Ricky ran the back of his fingernails from my heels to my toes.  He did that a few times.  I felt like every bad thing that had ever happened to me was leaving my body through my toes. 

 

     He continued to do the same thing, but each time he started a little higher; at my ankle, then my calf, then my knee.  Each time the anticipation was almost as great as the feeling itself. I wanted his fingers higher; I wanted them lower; I just wanted his touch.

 

     Finally, he started at the top of  thighs, and as he ran his fingernails down my legs I couldn’t stop moaning.  When he came back up again, he fluttered his fingers against my inner thighs. He stayed there, and I was desperate for him to move them higher, to touch my sex.  “Please, sir,” I said, and it came out as a moan.

 

     Ricky moved his hands away, and I groaned in frustration.  “I wish I could, Sweetie,” he said, “but I’m just warming you up.”  He waited while I caught my breath.  “I want you to roll over onto your back now,” he said.  As I complied, Ricky asked me, “Are you doing okay?” 

 

     I nodded.  “Is it always like this?”  I asked.  “With people’s feet, I mean.”

 

     Ricky pored oil on my collar bone and made little circles with his fingers on the tops of my breasts.  “Everyone carries most of their tension somewhere in their body,” he said.  “It’s just a question of finding it. It could be your back, or your arms, or anywhere.  With you, it’s your feet.” 

 

     He covered my breasts with his hands.  They felt magnificent.  “Keep your legs spread, Sweetie,” he said.  I hadn’t realized I had started to close them. 

 

     He massaged my arms, which felt nice but nowhere near as nice as my legs.  Then he returned to my breasts, and then my stomach, then down my legs to the top of my feet, always covering me with oil as he massaged me. He was moving quicker than before.  He toweled off my feet, murmuring, “Can’t have you slipping and falling.”

 

     Without warning his hands were in my crotch, and just as quickly on my clitoris.  Before I could even register the sensation he pulled away.  “Sorry,” he said.  “I had to make sure you were properly lubed up.” 

 

     He let me lie there for a minute as I came back to myself.

I couldn’t believe a stranger could know my body better than I did.  It was  embarrassing.  Was I a slut?  I honestly didn’t care.

 

     “Can you sit up?” Ricky asked me.  He put his hand under my back and supported me as I pulled myself up.  But the movement put pressure on my crotch, on my clit.  I made a little sound – I had been making so many sounds.  “Spread your knees, Sweetie,” Ricky said, and he pushed them apart.  I thought something might have happened just then if he hadn’t done that, but I didn’t know what.

 

     “How do you feel?” Ricky he asked me.  He sounded so genuinely concerned that I almost laughed.

 

     “Dizzy,” I said.  “Like I never want you to stop.  Like you’re an artist with my body.”  He grinned, looking inordinately pleased with himself.

 

     There was a rap at the door and Vincenzo walked in.  He looked me over, then turned to Ricky.  He did a double take.  “Not gay today?” he said.  I saw then that Ricky’s pants were bulging at his fly.

 

     Ricky shrugged. “I’m a people person.”  He sounded embarrassed.

 

     I wanted to take Vincenzo’s attention away from Ricky.  “I’m a foot person,” I blurted.  I immediately felt like an idiot, but my tactic had worked.  Vincenzo turned to me with a slow half-grin. 

 

     “Is that so?” he said.  He had a speculative look in his eye that made me blush. 

 

     Ricky cleared his throat.  I realized that Vincenzo and I had been staring at each other.  Vincenzo must have realized the same thing, because he turned away from me.  “Did you get her wet?” he asked Ricky.

 

     “Wet enough,” Ricky said.  “She’ll do fine.”

    

     Vincenzo made a noncommittal noise and turned back to me.  I was still sitting on the massage table.  He put his hands on my knees.  “With your leave?” he asked.  Of course he didn’t need to ask; all three of us knew he could do anything he wanted to me. Earlier that day he had jammed his finger into my pussy, and my ass.  And yet . . . Ricky’s touch had made me burn, but Vincenzo looking me in the eye as he waited for my response made me melt. 

 

     “As you wish, sir,” I said. 

 

     Vincenzo slowly pushed my knees wider apart and looked at my pussy.  He moved his hand higher, towards my crotch, but Ricky said, “No!  You’ll push her over the edge!”

 

     Vincenzo pulled his hand away.  “You cut it close,”  he said to Ricky. 

 

     “You wanted her ready.” He sounded defensive.  I wondered again if I had gotten him in trouble.   

 

     But Vincenzo sighed.  “True,” he said.  “The idiot frat boys will rub her clit off if she’s not prepared. And that’s no good for us, or her.”  He crossed the room and opened the door that led to the ballroom.  I could hear the hubbub on the other side.  Vincenzo opened his hands three times – 30 – to someone across the ballroom, then shut the door. He walked back over to me and took the hair ties out of my hair. He fluffed my hair at my shoulders, then trailed his fingers over the top of my breast.  He nodded at Ricky.  “Nice and slippery.  Well done as always,” he said. 

 

     The two of them stood awkwardly, an odd tension between them that I didn’t understand.  Suddenly Vincenzo said to Ricky, “You can go.”

 

     “But . . .” Ricky said, gesturing towards me.

 

     “I’ll take care of her,” Vincenzo said.  Ricky looked puzzled, then miffed, but he shrugged and went into the ballroom.

 

     Vincenzo turned slowly back to me.  “How was your afternoon?” Vincenzo asked me.

 

     How was I supposed to answer that?  That I’d made friends with two whores and I thought I hated Heath and what Ricky had done to me was . . .  “Am I really supposed to make small talk with you?” I asked, and added, “Sir.” 

 

     He gave me half a grin.  “I can think of worse ways to pass the time.”

 

     There was another knock on the door, and Kaylee and Tonna came in.  Kaylee was carrying a large plastic box by its handle. She stopped short when she saw Vincenzo.  “Hello, Sir,” she said, sounding uncertain. “I’m here to do Belinda’s makeup.”

 

     Vincenzo nodded.  “You did a good job with her hair,” he said. Kaylee and Tonna exchanged a startled look.  Vincenzo saw it and frowned.  He sounded harsher when he said,  “Keep it light.  No mascara.  I’ll take her into the ballroom myself.”  Again the startled look.  He turned to Tonna. “Aren’t you supposed to waitressing tonight?”

 

     “I was, Sir, but this afternoon Prince Caden signed up for a midnight session with me.” She looked pleased with herself.  Vincenzo nodded and stalked out of the room without another word.

 

     As soon as the door closed Tonna burst into giggles.  “What have you done to him?” she asked me. 

 

     Kaylee didn’t give me a chance to answer.  She had taken my chin in her hand and was gently tilting my head.  “He’s right,” she said.  “You hardly need anything.  We’ll just even you out a bit.”  She opened her box and began to work.

 

     Despite Kaylee’s words, by the time she was done with me I was wearing more makeup than I’d ever worn in my life – although that wasn’t saying much.  She started with something under my eyes, then moved to my lips.  Tonna was chattering about a man she would be with that night. I didn’t really listen.  As the warmth of Ricky’s hands and Vincenzo’s presence wore off, I became more and more queasy about what was about to happen to me.

 

     Kaylee showed me my face in the mirror embedded on the inside lid of her makeup box.  I looked without seeing, and nodded my thanks.  “What’s the matter, honey?” Kaylee asked.

 

     “She’s scared about tonight,” Tonna said.  “Obviously.”

 

     I nodded again.  My eyes filled with tears.  Now I understood why Vincenzo had said no mascara – I would have raccoon rings before I even went out there. “I always thought I would be in love my first time,” I said, “not groped in front of a crowd of strange men.  And then . . . ”  I couldn’t bring myself to say the word rape. 

 

     Tonna took my hand, but Kaylee pressed her lips together.  “You can feel sorry for yourself, honey,” she said, “But there’s another way to look at it.”

 

     “Is there?”  I couldn’t help the bitterness in my voice.  My brothers used to say that I was asking for whatever they did to me, because if I didn’t want it I wouldn’t have been in the same room as them – but of course if I left they would follow me.  I knew about other ways of looking at things.

 

     “Men are going to touch you tonight, it’s true,” Kaylee said.  “Strangers.  Some might be rough, or clumsy.  Most of them won’t be men you would choose, if you could choose.”

 

     “You’re not making her feel better,” Tonna said. 

 

     Kaylee swatted her away. “You listen,” she said to me, sounding fierce.  “All of the men tonight will have one goal.  The rough ones and the clumsy ones and all the others.  And that goal is to make you feel good, to bring you pleasure.  And the man who has sex with you after – he will be the one who brought you the most pleasure.  And that’s a better first experience than a lot of girls.”  She looked forlorn.  “Better than mine by far.”

 

     “And mine,” Tonna said.  There was such pain in her face that I had to turn away.

 

     “You remember that when you go out there tonight,” Kaylee said fiercely.  “You make those men please you.” 

 

     I hugged them both.  “I will,” I said.  I didn’t really understand what they were saying about what would happen, but I knew that Tonna and Kaylee were being kind to me, kinder than anyone had been to me since my mother died, and they were doing so despite their own pain.  In that moment I loved them. 

 

     My arms were still around them when Vincenzo walked in.  “That’s not the show we have planned for tonight,” he said. Kaylee and Tonna both jumped away from me. 

 

     Vincenzo took a breath and expelled it. I couldn’t tell if he was irritated or something else.  “Stand with your legs spread and your arms at your side,” Vincenzo said to me.  I obeyed.  He took a step towards me, but then he stopped and looked at Kaylee.  “You do it,” he said.  “Make sure she’s ready.”

 

     Kaylee moved towards me again.  “I’m going to touch you, honey,” she said.  I nodded.  And then her hand was between my legs, and her fingers were at the entrance to my pussy.  “Wow,” she said.  “You’re gushing like a geyser.”

 

     I jerked back, mortified.  “I didn’t say you could move,” Vincenzo said.  For some reason that made me gush even more. 

 

     “It’s okay, honey,” Kaylee said.  She glared for a moment at Vincenzo.  “Wet is good.”  She put one hand on the small of my back and touched me again with her other hand.  She moved her fingers around my crotch, from my pussy to my clit and back again several times. I wanted more. I tilted my pelvis towards her.  “Not this time, honey,” she said.  “You save that for the men out there.”  She pulled her hand away.  “She’s ready, Sir,” she said to Vincenzo. 

 

     Vincenzo nodded.  He opened the door to the ballroom.  The noise of loud conversations and laughter poured in.  “Come,” he ordered.