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 shoulder 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 collarbone 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.
