The Man With Magic Hands Ch 12

If you've been following this then I hope you'll stay with me as Rick's story turns a little dark. If you've just randomly come across this chapter, I'd strongly suggest you head back to Chapter 1 and start from the beginning.

Chapter 12

***

It's rare indeed when I'm contacted by a young woman. And by that I mean anyone under the age of 30, which counts as a 'youngster' from where I'm standing. Younger people tend to lack confidence in themselves, are perhaps understandably more cautious and no doubt still cling to the dream (fantasy?) of finding romance, love and lifelong commitment. It's not often they appreciate the pleasures a professional massage can bring. Plus of course, they have a lot more choice when it comes to getting laid!

The rest of us are just happy to have a nice sexy sensual massage, in the hope that we might get a fondle or a quick shag.

So when Lisa got in touch to book a session I was mildly surprised. As you'd expect, it's part of my standard booking procedure to confirm any client is of legal age. It's usually a formality.

"19," she said.

I must have misheard. "Sorry, I missed that."

"I'm nineteen," she said again. "Is that a problem?"

Are you kidding me? I thought at first. I haven't had my hands on a teenager since I was, well, a teenager!

But I paused, reflecting for a moment. Even without any 'play' did I really want to get that intimate with a girl young enough to be my daughter?

"It's legal you know," she said with a hint of annoyance.

"Yes, of course," I blurted. "Sorry to have to ask, but would you be able to provide ID when I visit. It's just a procedure I have to follow."

The line went quiet for a moment and I was beginning to think this was some kind of wind-up.

"Sure," she said finally. "Can my boyfriend stay and watch?"

"Er..yes. No problem. It's just a massage you want, right?"

"Sure," she said. Talkative girl, I thought.

***

My suspicions were raised even higher when I rolled up outside a seedy hotel just out of town. I have no problems with hotel visits, although I feel a bit like that guy from American Gigolo as I try and sneak through the lobby. But in this case the concierge just waved me through. Probably the kind of joint that sees this sort of thing all the time.

Lisa opened the door in a loose fitting bathrobe. She was a pretty girl with light hair and Slavic features, possibly Eastern European, although I hadn't detected it in her voice. And, as you'd expect, she had smooth skin and clear, bright eyes, even though she looked a little sullen. Plain, I thought to myself, but pretty enough. I said "hi" as she showed me into the room.

It was a fairly ordinary hotel room: double bed, small wardrobe, bathroom off to one side. The television was on in the corner playing some banal gameshow. There was a small desk in the opposite corner and seated in the chair was an older man, also in a robe. He nodded.

"We can do it here," said Lisa, as she dropped her robe and clambered on to the bed naked. She lay back facing the ceiling.

I was feeling apprehensive as it was, but this felt wrong. The mysterious stranger in the corner was at least my age, possibly older. I don't usually judge, but he didn't strike me as 'boyfriend' material and Lisa wasn't exactly warm and loving towards him. I tried to shake it off. Just here to do a job, I reminded myself.

"Sorry to ask again, but do you mind if I just check your ID?" I asked firmly.

"Oh. Yea, sure," mumbled Lisa and rolled off the bed. She strode over to the stranger and opened what was obviously his black leather case. She passed me a European passport.

Lisa Radka, Bulgarian. I did a quick calculation from the birthdate. 19 years old. It looked genuine, although, as with most passports, the photo wasn't terribly flattering. I had no reason to be suspicious other than the fact this whole scenario felt wrong. Lisa put the passport back in the case and hopped back on the bed.

I looked at her, lying there naked, gazing at the ceiling. She was skinny which never makes for a very satisfying massage. Her breasts were small and her crotch shaved. She genuinely looked like a child and I knew at the moment I wasn't going to be able to do anything sensual or sexual with her. Alarm bells that had been tinkling in my mind for a few minutes started ringing out and the word "exploitation" crashed into my head like a hammer blow.

"Are you going to do her or what?" grunted the guy in the corner.

I looked at him. His hands were tucked into his robe. Another word came through: "pervert".

"Sorry, massage is a delicate business. So many rules!" I chirped, thinking fast. "We're always being told about consent and so on. This is what you want, isn't it Lisa?"

She looked over at me, expressionless.

"Of course it's what she wants," grumbled the guy. "She made the booking. Nice massage. Maybe a happy ending. Right Lisa?"

Lisa nodded. "Sure," she said quietly. I saw a flicker of fear.

I could have walked away. I probably should have walked away. But something about her gaze made me want to help her. I was 90% certain she was in trouble, but not 100%. I just needed time to think.

"Flip over on to your tummy," I said. "I always start with the back and shoulders." It seemed the safest place to start and would give me a few minutes.

She was tense, but as I worked on her she began to relax. I stayed well away from her bottom and thighs. The perv was clearly wanking under his robe and I felt revulsion. I worked around to her head and massaged her neck, dropping down to a crouch so that my mouth was close to her ear. The television wasn't loud but it was enough to cover a whisper.

"If you're in trouble squeeze my hand," I whispered. She didn't react. Working back up to her shoulders and down to her arms I kneaded her arm and wrist before taking her hand. She squeezed it gently as I massaged her palms and manipulated her fingers.

"Turn her over," said the perv with some irritation. "I want to see you massage her tits."

I tried to stop her, but she rolled over before I could move, and lay on her back. She took my hand again and squeezed it hard, moving it towards her chest, still staring at the ceiling.

I folded the duvet she was lying on up and over her body.

"What the fuck you doing?!"

I turned to him. "I'm not doing anything else. I don't believe this woman has given full consent to what you're suggesting."

I turned back to Lisa. "Why don't you come with me?" I said, with no idea what I was going to do with her once I got her out of that place. She started to move but the pervert stood up sharply.

"Stay there!" he shouted. "And you can fuck off!"

"I think That's Lisa's decis..." I started, but he grabbed his case and pulled out a knife. He pointed it in my direction.

"I said fuck off. She stays with me."

I stared at the knife. It was at least six inches long and looked fucking deadly. And now that he was on his feet, the pervert towered over me. I wondered briefly if I could take him down. I was tempted to have a go. But he twisted the blade menacingly. It was a huge risk. I could die here, I thought, and then what happens to Lisa?

I backed off, raising my hands. "OK. OK. I'm leaving."

As I threw my stuff into my bag and as I retreated to the door I caught one final glimpse of Lisa's face. Her eye's pleaded with me and I'm sure I saw the small beginning of a tear.

***

My hands were shaking as I reached the car and I sat for a moment trying to think. As I reached for the phone to dial 999, I spotted the pervert dragging Lisa out of the hotel. They were wrapped in overcoats. He bundled her into a large black Mercedes, throwing his case into the boot.

"Emergency, which service do you require? Fire, Police or Ambulance?" said the operator. I punched the speaker button and started the engine.

"Police please," I said, trying to stay calm, vision fixed on the black Mercedes which was pulling away. The Control Room Assistant came on the line and asked for my number and location, but I was already moving.

"I think a young woman has been kidnapped, possibly trafficked. I'm following the car she's in."

The assistant was sympathetic but explained that without a location she would have difficulty arranging a response. Did I have more details of the vehicle I was following? I told her most of the story. She said she was putting out a call for a response vehicle and that I should keep the phone on, stay away from the Mercedes and not break the rules of the road.

And then I was on my own, following the black car and wondering how the hell I ended up in this situation. You're not bloody James Bond, I thought! What the fuck are you going to do when they get to wherever they're going? And as we snaked into the town, I couldn't put the image of Lisa's face out of my mind.

After about 20 minutes, he pulled up outside a block of apartments and I carried on past, hoping he hadn't noticed me. I watched from the corner as the pervert pulled Lisa out of the car and pushed her into the block. Then the phone rang.

"Can you give us a location?" said the officer. I passed across the details, explaining the events of the evening.

"We appreciate all your help, but there's nothing else you can or should do," he said calmly. "We'll make enquiries at the property. I suggest you go home, sir. I'm sure a detective will be in touch in the next few days."

I was achingly disappointed. I wanted officers charging in there to rescue the poor girl and anyone else who might be trapped in the building. But in truth, I was powerless.

***

I didn't sleep well, but managed to drag myself to my appointments over the next few days. The weekend came and went. Vanessa seemed upset that I wasn't terribly enthusiastic at our Monday morning session. I explained the basics of what happened and she hugged me for a while. I met a new client the following day, just a quick one-off session, and spent an hour with Maya the day after that.

As I headed home on Wednesday evening, a report caught my ear on the afternoon news. Police had raided a property in town, arresting six men. It was believed that a number of young women, possibly trafficked, had been taken into Police care. I sighed with relief and slept like a baby that night.

It was the Thursday when a couple of officers knocked at 7AM.

"Oh, you're here," I chirped grinning. "I was wondering when you'd be needing a statement."

"Mr Rollins? Richard Rollins?" He looked rather serious.

"Yes, of course."

"Mr Rollins, I'm arresting you on suspicion of rape, molestation and operating an illegal brothel. You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."