Chapter 1: Delilah
The Ethereal Plane was one of northern California's best kept secrets. The high-end customers who frequented the day spa were treated with higher-than-high-end care. Manicures, pedicures, hair treatments, body massages, and just about any pampering a rich suburbanite could want could be had here, and at prices not too far above those of similar facilities in large cities. A nearby college ensured that the establishment was frequented by customers of all demographics. One unique thing about this particular spa, however, was that in quite a few of the treatment rooms, sexual activity frequently took place between the therapists and their clients! Mind you, this was not a whorehouse of any sort; both males and females staffed the place, and prices for massages or any other service remained the same across the board. All payments took place before sessions, and since the therapists worked in little or no clothing, there was no place to hide any extra cash they might receive, plus they were searched thoroughly at the end of each shift. Any sex that occurred was strictly consensual, and payments or tips behind closed doors were forbidden. If a client found his or her therapist particularly attractive, and the therapist was willing, then they would do whatever their own individual limits allowed them to.
One Wednesday morning, the phone rang around 10:00. The receptionist answered, "Ethereal Plane Spa, this is Genevieve, how may I help you sir or ma'am?"
"Good morning Genevieve, this is Mrs. Redmond. I'm running a little late this morning, but I just wanted to call to confirm my weekly massage appointment." If Ethereal had one client that they would jump through flaming hoops over a pit of poison-tipped spikes to keep happy, it was Delilah Redmond. Between her inheritance from her grandfather and her husband being one of the richest men in the state, she could afford to spend five out of every seven days in the salon. On Monday it was the tanning beds, Tuesday a full body wax, Wednesday a full body massage, Thursday was hair, nails and toes, and Friday she capped her week off with a facial in the morning and make-up in the evening before she went out on the town. Genevieve calmly asked Mrs. Redmond to hold for a moment, which she was taken aback at as such had never happened to her before. Genevieve immediately called the massage department manager, Rosalyn Garrison. "Yes, Vivi, what is it?"
"Mrs. Redmond is calling to confirm her appointment this morning!"
"Didn't you call her last night to reschedule because Greg is on vacation?" Gregory Rhodes was the spa's best erotic masseur, the favorite of many women including Mrs. Redmond.
"I did, but she wasn't home so I left a message." Vivi's voice was audibly cracking. She knew that if Mrs. Redmond went home unhappy, someone could very well lose a job; it had happened before when someone cut her hair too short. Rosalyn was nervous too; Mrs. Redmond was too high profile a client to lose. Regardless of what she got done a particular day, she paid a flat 500 dollars every time she went into the spa. She had six favorite attendants, one in each area. In the beginning the management was staunchly against tipping, but because she and some other clients continually paid such exorbitant amounts they relented, and allowed the excess beyond the actual cost to go to the workers. Eventually Rosalyn collected herself and asked Vivi to transfer the call to her. Once connection was made and Rosalyn had identified herself, Delilah repeated her confirmation request. "Mrs. Redmond, I'm terribly sorry, but your usual therapist went on vacation starting yesterday."
"Oh... well, I trust he'll make the trip back for me?"
"Ma'am, he's in New York City right now." Rosalyn tried to hide the nervousness in her voice as she heard an audible gulp. "Excuse me; did you say Greg was in New York?" Delilah asked with more than a little irritation.
"Yes, he is. We left-" The line went dead before Rosalyn could finish her statement. She became deathly afraid; she could tell that Mrs. Redmond was on her way to the spa because she heard the noise of vehicles in the background. If she deemed the treatment she was getting was anything less than absolutely fantastic, she would leave and take her nearly $5,000 worth of weekly business with her. All of her other therapists were busy with other clients; however, she did have one chance at redemption, but not one she felt terribly confident in. She had hired another massage therapist to replace Greg, as he was leaving in a year once he graduated school. However, he had only been on the staff since the previous Sunday and was still going through training.
Rosalyn went out to the lobby to await Mrs. Redmond's arrival, but not before going to the bathroom to vomit.
=====================================================================
Hanging up the phone, Delilah harshly commanded her driver to make haste to the Ethereal Plane. As she fumed in the back seat, she wondered how they could possibly do such a thing, letting one of her preferred staffers go on vacation without so much as a courtesy call. At thirty-nine years old, she had the body of a woman half that age, with long, slender legs, toned abs, and a heavenly pair of tits. Every Wednesday she entrusted her body to Greg's golden hands and his platinum tongue. He wasn't the best hung guy out there, so only on rare occasion did she have sex with him, but he could lick a pussy like no one she'd ever met. Her husband was twenty-two years her senior and while they were very much in love in every sense of the word, he didn't provide much pleasure in the bedroom. Having accepted this, he had no problems with allowing her to seek sexual fulfillment elsewhere. He had spoiled her for eighteen years, and now he was the only person she took the word 'no' from. Things happened two ways with Delilah: her way or not at all.
They arrived at the spa at 10:30, right on time for her appointment. She exited the car and stood to her full six feet, two inches of height. Without saying a word, she waved her driver off and strode towards the door. Once inside, she was immediately greeted by Mrs. Garrison, whose five-foot-four frame she dwarfed in comparison.
Rosalyn Garrison and Delilah Redmond were a pair of diametric opposites if ever there was one. Both ladies had brown eyes, but the similarities ended there. Delilah looked like she could have just stepped down from a plastic surgeon's table (although all her beauty was, in fact, natural). Rosalyn, meanwhile, was certainly not unattractive, but she did have some extra flesh in places Delilah didn't even have places. Her midsection was slightly pudgy, the results of twice enduring the rituals of childbirth. Her breasts and ass were definitely bigger; at a glance, she had at least a letter on Delilah's chest and six inches on her backside. Her raven-black hair was in tight, small curls, contrasting starkly with Delilah's blond ponytail.
The differences between the two went beyond the physical. Delilah was obviously born of privilege, and married even deeper into it. She carried a power known only to the rich, and in the suburbs of northern California nobody wielded it like she did. She learned at a very young age that money had a way of making things happen. On the other hand, Rosalyn was a child of the Los Angeles ghettos, having suffered more at the hands of her substance-addicted, rarely-present parents than most people go through in an entire life. She had focused her energies as a youth into escaping the black hole she saw her surroundings to be, and succeeded in grand fashion. She had continued her education beyond high school majoring in business administration, and become a very successful executive in a few places before landing at the Ethereal Plane. Along the way, she met and married a man who was carving his own path through life, and they had been doing so together ever since. Now they owned property on each coast and lived a comfortable lifestyle, a far cry from the fate that more than likely awaited her. Had she stayed in L.A. another year she would have more than likely been killed in the same drug raid that claimed her parents' lives, or worse.
"Mrs. Redmond, it's a pleasure to see you again," Rosalyn said, trying her best not to feel intimidated, or at least put on that she wasn't.
"Miss Garrison, I know I'm a little late, so I'd like to see my masseur immediately, please." There was a definite emphasis on the word 'my.'
"Mrs. Redmond, I'm terribly sorry, but like I explained on the phone, he's gone on vacation," Rosalyn stammered while trying to keep up with Delilah, who was moving towards the elevator.
Surprisingly enough, Delilah's next words were spoken as calmly as if nothing were wrong. "Well then, I'll just have to settle for another staffer this week."
"Umm, ma'am, he'll be gone for two whole months," Rosalyn responded as they stepped into the elevator.
"WHAT?!" Delilah exploded once the elevator had shut.
"That's right, and there's no one else available today for another half hour."
Delilah cornered Rosalyn, making her cower. "Would you make me wait, Miss Garrison? I am the reason this spa is in business. If I leave, every client who's worth anything will leave right along with me. I don't care what you have to do; if I have to wait as much as five minutes to be seen, I am never coming here again!" She turned stone-faced towards the door as Rosalyn attempted to keep from bursting into tears. She didn't care, however; the world revolved around her, and no one was going to tell her differently. Eventually the car reached the tenth floor of the building, where the massage rooms were. She looked around the waiting room and saw nobody. She took a seat angrily, while Rosalyn shrank to another side of the room.
Eventually a door opened and a man came out wearing a crimson silk kimono. Rosalyn immediately recognized him; it was her latest hire, but he was still in training. Before she could ask him what he was doing not on the training floor, however, he was already in Mrs. Redmond's face. He stepped beside her and said, "Good morning, ma'am. You must be Mrs. Delilah Redmond. I'm sorry to inform you, but your usual therapist isn't here today. I could see you if you'd like, or would you prefer to wait until someone else is free?" Once Delilah locked her eyes on him, Rosalyn knew that the situation was out of her hands. Delilah slowly stood up, and then turned around to face the origin of the voice she'd heard. The voice was owned by an African-American man, and although she had seen very few black men up close and personal before, he was extremely good looking. He had his hair in cornrows, a 'thuggish' aspect which was offset by a pair of very scholarly wire-framed glasses. He stood just a few inches shorter than her, so she guessed him to be around five-foot-ten. After looking her over for a few moments she finally she addressed him, her gruff, harsh tone the polar opposite of his complete courtesy. "Who are you? I've never seen you here before."
