The Man with Magic Hands

I was, quite frankly, fucking scared.

I've always been a confident, easy going, fairly relaxed kind of guy. You know the sort: happy to have a laugh, not too picky, laissez-fayre. Nothing really ever shocked or phased me. Just an all-round nice bloke.

Now I was just berating myself for being such a twat. What was I bloody doing, for Christ's sake! Fucking all these women, most of whom were married. Sneaking in and out of people's homes. And worst of all -- inviting them into mine! According to the officer, That's technically "operating a brothel".

And if that wasn't bad enough, I'd been accused of rape! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Having dragged me down to the station, I was left for a couple of hours in a cell with nothing to do but fret over what the hell had gone wrong. I was especially worried about Lisa. I had no idea if she had been with the women rescued from the apartment, or if she was OK. Was this whole situation due to the pervert trying to get revenge? Surely Lisa would confirm what happened? If she's allowed to give evidence. But also, in the back of my head, there was a tiny, nagging doubt. Had I been set up? Was Lisa part of this? Surely not!

I couldn't eat anything they offered. I just shed a few tears and fretted.

Eventually, I was escorted to an interview room. There were several hours of grilling as they went through all my personals, what I'd been doing, the massage work. I'd already decided there was little point in lying so I told them as much as I could. They asked for names, but I refused. They told me this was very serious and that I should consider my position and future. Aside from the other charges, rape carries a maximum life imprisonment, they said. And even when you get out, you"ll be a registered sex offender for the rest of your life. I just hung my head in shame.

I asked repeatedly about Lisa. My questions about her were met initially with blank looks and then ignored. Eventually one of the offers asked what the hell I was talking about. I explained and they went off to investigate.

Later in the day I was informed that a warrant had been secured and my apartment was being searched. By this time, I didn't care about my stuff. I was a wreck. But it dawned on me that they would almost definitely find my "client notes". And with phone records it wouldn't be too difficult to track down Vanessa, Maya, Jenny etc. Probably all of them, I thought. Bollocks! It's all going to come out. Now I've ruined their lives as well!

I was left to stew for another night. I knew I'd missed appointments, so I suppose there were some angry ladies out there too. Least of my troubles, I sighed. And it's not like I'll be seeing any of them ever again.

The next morning I was taken back to the interview room.

"You witnessed and reported an abduction on the night of July 14th, is that correct?" said one of the officers. He was new to me, a little less acerbic than the previous day's cohort of detectives.

"Yes! Finally! I called it in and followed them." I went through the events of the evening, pleading that I had only massaged Lisa's back and neck as a way to distract the pervert and help her.

The detectives huddled just out of earshot. They examined a bundle of notes and huddled again. Then they turned back to me.

"Mr Rollins, I'm the officer handling that case. Firstly, I want to thank you for what you did. It was admirable. I can confirm that Lisa is safe and being looked after. You did the right thing." I sighed with relief. The best (and only) good news I'd had all week.

"But I'm afraid your situation has nothing to do with her, or the gang we arrested last week. You're being charged for inviting a Miss Amelia Brown into your home for the purpose of paid sexual intercourse, then molesting and raping her without consent. These alleged crimes took place on July 20th."

What the fuck! Who the hell is Amelia Brown? I thought, wracking my brain. It slowly came into focus and I shuddered. Not because I felt any guilt, but because I suddenly knew I'd been set up, conned and hung out to dry.

***

It was just a few days ago. A one-off session with what sounded like a lovely lady.

"Just call me Emmy. I would love one of your, you know, special massages," she had purred down the phone. Sultry voiced. Very sexy, I mused. This might be nice.

"No problem," I replied and we set it up at my place that evening. I'd been fretting over Lisa for days so I needed distractions and she'd phoned out of the blue. It seemed like something to take my mind off my worries. And she was, indeed, a very sexy lady. Deep brown eyes, with jet black hair that fell below the shoulders. Buxom and curvy in all the right places. Special Massage? I thought to myself. I'll fuck your bloody brains out if you'll let me!

But what I actually said was: "Would you like me to leave the room while you change?"

She simply smiled at me, placed her bag on the table and began peeling off her clothes.

She slowly stripped, turning away as she removed her bra, but then glancing back like a stripper as she let it fall away. Then she bent forwards slightly and slipped down her lacy knickers, wriggling her bum in my direction. I'll be honest, my johnson was a tentpole already and I hadn't even touched her yet!

I tried to compose myself. This delightful creature was obviously up for it, but I still had a job to do.

She laid across the couch and I worked on her shoulders and back. Yes, I realise it's a bit poetic, and probably not entirely accurate, but the temperature was definitely rising. I swear there was steam coming off her body. She was, figuratively and literally, smoking!

There was a buzz from the table. And then another. Obviously her phone. We both tried to ignore it. When it buzzed a third time, she sat up.

"Sorry Rick," she said. "Let me deal with this." She hopped off and fished out her phone, stabbing at it in annoyance. She fired off a long message, then threw it back in the bag.

It took a couple of minutes but my magic hands soon got her back into a relaxed state. After the usual legs, arms and feet I let my hand brush across her buttocks lightly. She shivered.

"Would you like me to..?" I started but she cut me off.

"Oh yes." She cooed. "Most definitely!"

I took that as consent and let my hands stroke her buttocks and slide over her tummy towards her amazingly round and wholesome boobs. I wondered if they were, er, 'enhanced' in any way, but as I kneaded them gently and brushed her nipples I couldn't feel any evidence of implants. She was sighing and moaning.

She reached over to my crotch and stroked my bulge. I didn't need any more encouragement and quickly shucked off my clothes, grabbed a condom and climbed between her legs. I would have taken her to the bedroom, but the whole situation was rather steamy and passionate. I didn't want to spoil the moment. She clearly didn't need any lubrication because her pussy was oozing. I held up the condom.

"Shall I...?" I murmured but she cut me off again.

"No," she said hungrily and grinned.

She reached around and clasped my buttocks, lifted her legs and pulled me into her tight, wet pussy. Well, that's fine with me, I mused, as I thrust into her.

It wasn't that I didn't care about contraception. It was simply that I took the view that sex is always going to be a matter of trust. We are, after all, intelligent, well-informed adults. Everyone involved should take some responsibility for protecting themselves and their partners. Of course, I was getting tested regularly. In my line of work it's a priority. So I was confident that I was clean and safe. I trusted my clients to make their own decisions.

She was a powerhouse. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and her legs around my waist and I slammed into her. She moaned and screamed, and I felt her hot box contract as she came several times. I'll admit that, as far as a shag was concerned, she was fucking amazing.

When it was over, she clambered off the couch and threw on her clothes.

"That was incredible," I muttered, grinning at her as she dressed.

"Yes, it was," she said quietly. She looked at me and I sensed a little sadness in her eyes.

"Did I do something wrong?" I muttered.

"You are..." she started but paused. "Sorry, I need to go. Good luck." And she left.

I lay on the couch for a minute or two. My cock was still throbbing a little from the effects of her delicious vagina. Odd lady, I thought. But what a shag!

And now, a few days later, sitting in a Police station interview room, I could see it all laid out. Probably a hooker, I thought. Well paid and carefully briefed on exactly what to do and say.

"We have her statement, and a semen sample," said the detective matter-of-factly. "We'd like a swab from you too."

"Sure," I mumbled. "Whatever."

It was over. I was completely and totally fucked.