Meeting the Competition
A corporate spy tries to learn the secrets of a very successful Spa, only to find out the truth is way, way more pleasant than she ever could have imagined.
This story was written for Serling as one of his Patreon commissions for March 2018. It contains magical, massage based fun. :3
Meeting the Competition
The second that Clarissa stepped into the spa, an alarm went off in a small room to the rear of the facility. An alarm connected to a highly sophisticated closed-circuit television network, which in turn was connected to a high resolution database of faces, along with names and the companies to whom they and their many aliases were attached.
Clarissa wasn't the first person this year to try and sneak into the Spa as a client, while actually working for a rival massage therapy business seeking to poach some of this particular spa's unique secrets. In fact, she wasn't even the first person this week. Regardless though, the staff were trained for this. They were prepared to deal with precisely this eventuality, and thus as the lithe greyhound limped her way over to the reception desk, still proud and unashamed in her stance in spite of the cane with which she walked, the otter seated behind it smiled at her warmly and welcomingly as ever.
"Good morning, how can I help you?"
Clarissa had a good cover story. In many respects in fact, like the best cover stories, it was true. She really had torn some ligaments the year before in a roller derby game. She really had found herself with trouble putting her full weight on that leg ever since, and she really had heard that the treatments they offered here were some of the most effective and exclusive in the nation. The only thing she left out, by omission rather than a lie, was whom she worked for. A company that would have, and indeed was offering to pay her hundreds of thousands of dollars for information leading to their understanding and replication of this spa's unique massage oil formula.
Soon, having had her appointment confirmed and accepted by the receptionist, Clarissa was being led through the Spa. Peering curiously around, turning the head of her cane slightly as she walked to ensure that the miniature camera embedded in its tip caught every last shelf, every last award plaque, every last name upon a therapy suite door for later analysis and potential blackmail. Then she was in a room of her very own. Being instructed in how she could dress down to her comfort level, and left to get comfortable until her massage therapist arrived.
She took off her clothes, every last stitch, and laid herself out upon the massage table in readiness for her massage therapist's arrival. She didn't even try to scour cupboards or slip any objects, any phials into her jacket pockets. She assumed that all the cabinets would be locked, all the trade secrets of this place kept under careful guard. In most rooms, that wouldn't have been the case. But in this one, it absolutely was.
A few short minutes spent listening to the suite's relaxing music later, Dave arrived. The stallion greeted Clarissa warmly, remaining utterly professional as she sat upright upon the table to shake his hand, exposing herself to him in the process. It was a cheap trick, but she figured it was at least worth a shot. No dice though, they weren't going to take the spa down with a lawsuit, no matter how lucrative it might have been had there been any chance of impropriety. Instead, he carefully and precisely laid out every detail of what the massage would entail. How the unique massage oils would allow him to unweave the damaged tissue of her body, and how when it was reconstructed, it would be as good as new.
Her heart skipped a beat. A few tears sprang to her eyes.
She'd been told by her company that they might actually be able to offer her a little pain relief through their methods, but... total healing?! How the hell was that possible?
She tried to stay calm. Tried to stay focused on her job. She asked how it was possible. She asked how the massage oil worked, how it chemically was able to achieve what they promised. All Dave told her was that it was a proprietary secret, something not even he as a licensed therapist and one of the most senior staff members in the building knew. That he totally understood if she didn't want to go ahead with things, but he would personally guarantee its effectiveness, or offer her a full refund out of his own pocket.
After that, and with her cane recording those words from close by as a verbal contract, what else could Clarissa say, but yes?
She watched as he prepared the oil.
She lay on her front and listened as he talked to her in soft, gentle tones. She gasped as she felt a warm tingling begin to spread up and down her injured leg as the stallion began to massage it, and...
...
...
...
"...know I've said it before, but... thank you, Dave. Thank you so, so much!"
Clarissa sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes, hesitating for just a moment before lunging forward, and flinging her arms around the stallion's neck in a tight embrace. Beaming, giggling as she kissed him on the cheek and winked to the grinning receptionist close by, the greyhound drew back from the hug. She stepped away from them, resting firmly upon her once injured leg without the slightest twinge of discomfort. Her cane wasn't there. It was probably still in the therapy suite, but she didn't care. She didn't need that dumb stick any more. Her leg had never felt stronger, never felt healthier.
Bouncing happily upon the balls of her feet, the greyhound walked backwards towards the entrance, beaming and blowing kisses to the blushing, grinning stallion for all that he had done for her. Then she turned on her heels, giggled like a schoolgirl, and skipped out of the spa like a lovestruck teen coming home from her first date with the person she'd been crushing on all year.
In the parking lot of the spa, Clarissa saw the car she was supposed to be meeting her contact in. She trotted merrily over to it, and as the passenger side door popped open, its window tinted like all those of that vehicle, she slid inside. The fox resting in the driver's seat glared at her, then down at the clock on the dashboard expectantly. Clarissa just smiled at him, and her eyes widened only when he growled at her in frustration.
"Where the hell were you? I thought the appointment was an hour. You went in at one. It's almost six! Did they find you out? Were they holding you, interrogating you?"
Clarissa stared at the fox in stunned amusement, and snorted with laughter.
"What? Oh my god, Marcus. No! It just took a little longer, that's all."
He stared back at her, glaring suspiciously at her continued smile.
"What took a little longer? What did they do to you in there?"
The greyhound leaned back in the car's seat, yawning and stretching, giggling as she closed her eyes peacefully.
"Oh... y'know. A nice massage. I don't really remember. I think I fell asleep for most of it. God, it felt good... and, look!"
She swung around in the car and thrust her leg forward at the fox, wiggling her toes in front of his face.
"They fixed my leg!"
The fox, Marcus, just stared in stunned horror.
"T-they... they what?"
Clarissa nodded.
"Yeah, good as new. Better, even. Oh! Oh oh oh oh ohhhh! And, I have this! You should take this back to the bosses!"
She delved a hand deep into her jacket pocket, giggling as she saw the fox's eyes light up with almost cartoon dollar signs. Oh, if only he knew. The greyhound pulled forth the rather long strip of paper, and thrust it into Marcus' waiting hands. He looked at it. Read the words and numbers emblazoned upon it, and then slowly, as the smile drained from his face, he looked up at Clarissa in aghast frustration.
"This is..."
The giddy dog nodded gleefully.
"I know right, it's amazing. They let me book a VIP session every week for the whole year. They don't normally let people book so many sessions given how expensive they are, but they said so long as I understood it was completely non-refundable, I'd be fine."
She saw the look on the fox's face, and waved a dismissive hand.
"Oh, don't worry, I'm not an idiot. I charged it to the company credit card."
The colour drained out of Marcus' face. He was responsible for Clarissa. He was her handler on this assignment. He had signed out that credit card so that they could secure this appointment at such short notice. That money, all that money, was tied back to him and his pay-cheques for the next... oh god, that was a lot of zeroes.
He looked up from the receipt just in time to hear the click of the passenger side door opening, and just in time to see Clarissa springing back out into the parking lot again, starting to jog away from him, running small laps around his and the next few cars lined up together, hopping and bounding upon her once injured leg.
"Hey, you don't think they'd let me go in for another massage right now, do you?"
She called back to the car, Marcus groaning and ducking down in the seat as he saw a few pairs of eyes from around the parking lot turn towards the loud, shameless greyhound's calls.
"Ooh! Oh, we should both go in together! I can tell them you work with me, I'm sure they'd let you use the company credit card too. Trust me, Marcus. You need to have one of these massages. I know I don't really actually remember what happened and stuff, but... just trust me, okay? You won't find anything like them anywhere else, nowhere in any other spa in the entire world."
The further the greyhound ran from the car, the louder she yelled, her words echoing back to the spa building itself and all around the parking lot.
"And, y'know what? I kinda wouldn't want to, coz nowhere else could possibly do it better than here! Especially not that shitty rip-off place where we work! Omigosh, Marcus. Marcus! I just had the best idea!! We should quit. We should quit, and come work here instead! Can you imagine anything more perfect?! A job here would be way, way better than some dumb corporate espionage gig! Should I go and see if they give out job applications? Oh, oh yeah, I'm gonna go ask! Hey, wait right here, I'll be right back!"
Marcus could only watch, could only sit in the car and stare in stunned, muted anguish as he watched the most devious, manipulative and cunning individual he had ever met skip merrily across the parking lot back towards the spa.
He looked down at the credit card receipt clutched in his hand again, then back at her and the spa towards which she was running.
That was a lot of zeroes. A lot.
But... then again, look how happy she was.
Look at her running.
He sighed, and smiled.
Tomorrow he'd have to go into work, and answer for their failure. And tomorrow, there'd be hell to pay.
But for now, his friend was happy. Her leg was healthy again, despite countless doctors and their own employer telling her there was nothing more that could be done.
For that reason alone; no matter what else, no matter how badly they'd screwed this up, that kind of made everything else that would follow absolutely worth it.
By Jeeves
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