The Spa
Chapter 12.
Sunday morning:
The large, unmarked delivery truck pulled up in front of the older gentleman’s house, just as it had two nights earlier. The only difference today was that instead of dropping off a package, they were picking one up.
Two strong young women got out, opened the back, and retrieved the hand truck; rolling it to the front door, the driver rang the doorbell. After a minute, the man answered; he was wearing the same robe he’d been in all weekend long. At least now it was somewhat securely tied so as not to reveal what he’d been working with.
“I guess you lasses are after that doll,” he casually remarked, as he stepped aside. Standing in the hallway, arms at its sides in display mode, was D36. A few feet farther back stood the crate it had been originally delivered in.
The two women did a cursory inspection as they walked around D36 to retrieve the crate. “Looks like it’s in good shape still, sir. Better than that last one we picked up from here.”
“Yeah, well, I’m on a fixed income, I can’t have surprise repair bills any more.” He chuckled. “It may look in good shape, but let me tell ya, I got my money’s worth out of this one.”
The two women looked at each other, then back at the elderly man, then back to each other again with somewhat disgusted expressions.
“We really don’t need to know what you did, sir,” the driver finally spoke. “We’re just here to pick up.” They carefully lay the crate flat on the floor and opened it, preparing to place the drone inside.
“Right. I bet you hear some crazy stuff though. These fuckdolls are great! You can just drill the hell outta them and don’t have to worry ’bout nothin. I only wish they’d been around when I was a bit younger—no need for a nagging wife if you got you one of these things and one of them maid units too.”
“Please, sir, we really don’t want to know,” the driver repeated as they carefully lowered D36 back into the box. “I mean what are you, 90?”
“Age ain’t nothin’ but a number, honey. Thanks to Viagra, I can screw for hours still—hell, probably better than I did when I was your age.” He approached them with a twinkle in his eye. “Y’know, girls, I still got a few of them pills left...”
“Ew, no!” they responded in unison as they closed the lid, latched it, and quickly loaded it onto the cart, barely saying goodbye as they wheeled it out the door and onto the truck. They didn’t even look back, and were probably glad they didn’t—he was standing in the doorway and his robe wasn’t tied any longer.
An hour later, at the New You Spa:
‘D36’ had arrived back at the spa a few minutes earlier; once in the warehouse, the crate was opened and a more thorough inspection was completed by the warehouse manager. Satisfied that the item was undamaged physically, she called for Auburn and Sandy. The two technicians arrived quickly and together they carried the motionless drone to one of the spa rooms, placing it gently into one of the reclining chairs. Then they used special hypoallergenic wipes to make sure the drone was clean from head to toe. Finally, they touched up the nails, brushed the hair, and otherwise brought the item back to the exact same condition it was in when it was auctioned.
Sandy carefully removed the tags from the drone’s nipples, and then, placing her fingers on either side of its face, slowly peeled away the mask, revealing its now flawless skin. The drone’s eyes slowly opened, adjusting to the brightness of the room.
“Hi, Denise!” Sandy effused. “How do you feel?”
Denise stretched her limbs a bit as she blinked. “I...feel so...wow...refreshed...did I doze off?”
“I’m sure you did at some point,” Auburn interjected. “The process is so relaxing, it’s almost impossible not to. And so rejuvenating—your skin looks incredible!” She grabbed a hand mirror and handed it to Denise.
“Wow...my face looks so...young!” Denise bubbled. She looked down at her nails, and as she did, she realized she wasn’t wearing anything. “The massage...”
“Yes, you had a massage, you got the full treatment,” Sandy answered. “If you want, you can go retrieve your clothes, we have a nice lunch waiting for you and then you can head home.”
“Home...wait, it’s not Sunday already is it?” Denise looked utterly confused.
“It is, as I said, you got the full treatment. With so much relaxation, sometimes you can lose track of time. What’s the last thing you remember, Denise?”
“I...the massage...and then...” Denise shook her head as if trying to dislodge a marble. “Everything’s so fuzzy...”
“It’s okay, sweetie,” Auburn cooed as she petted Denise’s head. If there was a hint of condescension in her voice, Denise didn’t pick up on it. “It’s common to not remember things when you’re being pampered like a supermodel.”
“A supermodel,” Denise repeated, as she slowly rose to her feet and walked over to a full-length mirror, admiring herself. “Wow...”
Sandy and Auburn stepped behind her, smiling as they watched their client stare at herself.
“So, Denise,” Sandy whispered into the teacher’s left ear, “does ‘D36’ mean anything to you?”
“D36?” Denise shook her head. “No, should it?” She glanced back at her reflection. “My bust size is 36D if that’s what you meant?”
Sandy and Auburn gave each other a glance of approval. “Okay, I’ll be right back; I’ll take you to your changing room and then I’ll show you where lunch is set up. And I hope we see you again!” Sandy replied before heading out. Denise turned to face Auburn; her expression was still one of abject befuddlement.
Auburn reached out and stroked Denise’s blonde hair. “This hair color really suits you—you should keep it.”
“I,” Denise started to reply, as she tried to remember something she’d been told. “Has it been...twenty-four hours since...”
“It has. So, embrace it! Be the blonde you were always meant to be, sweetie. You were a pretty brunette, but you’re an absolute knockout now.”
“Wow, umm, thank you!”
Auburn removed her hand from Denise’s wavy blonde locks, and for a moment started to reach lower but stopped herself, just as Sandy walked in. Auburn stepped back, and turning to Sandy, whispered: “Good timing—I was close to doing something with this one I shouldn’t. She’s all yours now.”
Sandy reached over and removed Denise’s robe from the hook, handing it to her. “Okay, right this way,” she motioned, giving Denise time to put the robe on before leading her down the hall.
A short time later:
Denise, fully dressed once again, strode into the dining room. A number of other ladies were already sitting at the table eating; Denise looked around until she spotted the buffet line, and made herself a generous plateful of food. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she stepped in and smelled the delicious lunch offerings!
She carried her plate over to the table, taking one of the empty seats; it wasn’t until she sat down that she realized who she was sitting across from: Lucille Devereaux.
“Oh, it’s you again,” Lucille muttered.
“Yes, it is me, Denise Miller. And you know what? I feel amazing. And there is absolutely nothing you can say to me that will make me feel any less amazing than I do right now!” Denise pushed her chest out confidently as she took a bite of her food.
Lucille let out a gasp—clearly she wasn’t used to being challenged like that. She composed herself a bit, taking a deep breath, and then replied: “Flaunt those tits, blondie. They’re all you have going for you. I have a rich husband and more money in my account right now than you’ll ever make. In a while you’ll be back to your pathetic life.”
Denise didn’t respond for a few seconds.
“Hmm, let’s see...Nope, still feel amazing!” She failed to suppress a giggle, and her response seemed effective—Lucille finished her last few bites, got up, and walked out without saying another word.
By the time Denise opened her door and walked back into her own apartment, she’d completely forgotten Lucille Devereaux. In fact, by that evening, the entire spa weekend was a distant memory; only the blonde hair was a reminder that she’d done something different that weekend. And by the time she slid into her bed that night, even that memory was fleeting. She’d gone to the salon, gotten her hair colored completely blonde—something she’d been toying with doing for months...
Five days later:
Denise trudged through the door on a Friday afternoon, having survived another exhausting week of teaching high school history. She pushed her way into the kitchen, tossing her bag and the mail onto the counter before leaning against it.
The twenty-four-year-old, second-year teacher sighed as she absently flipped through the mail, which was mostly bills and junk.
As she rifled through the mail, a bright card caught her eye. Denise knew she’d seen them before in the mail but remembered ignoring them or tossing them straight in the trash bin, but this time she stopped and took a deliberate look at it:
“Dear Denise,Exhausted? Stressed? Overworked and overwhelmed? At New You Spa, we know how difficult teachers can have it, those long and thankless hours spent trying to guide our young people. That’s why we have an exclusive offer for you today! Your first visit is free! Whether you want to try a half-day at our spa, or a full day, or even an entire weekend, that first visit is on us, our way of showing our appreciation for what you contribute to the community!
Call 555-5678 and mention this offer when you call. Availability is limited, so call now! And remember, your first visit is absolutely FREE!”
She reached into her purse, pulled out her cell phone and dialed the number...