Fun at the Spa

British English spelling and grammar.

At last! A proper ending?

***

Fun at the spa

"Guess what?"

The moment Lionel walked through the door, Emma leapt into his arms.

"You won?"

"Yes! Saleswoman of the year! Well, joint winner to be exact, Melanie got the same value of sales as me, so we share the holiday."

"Wow, congratulations! My clever girl! When do you go?"

"Thanks sweetheart. We go the first week in October, after the summer rush."

Over dinner, she opened a bottle of champagne and told Lionel all about it. There had been five top earners; the other three were men. But this year, the ladies had dominated the sales drive. Traditionally their company would add a sliding scale bonus in the September salary payment. £5,000 to the top dog, down to £1,000 to the fifth. Plus four days away at a spa hotel to the top performer. Last year Emma had won £1,000. But there had been some adjustment this year because of the dead heat. Emma and Melanie would get £4,500 each, but a three day stay instead of four.

"The hotel is in Brighton. It's got mud baths, facials, massage, make-up classes, everything."

"Doesn't sound like much fun if a bloke wins." said Lionel.

"Oh, it is. There's also gym, swimming and snooker. Did you know Sussex has loads of vineyards and breweries? There's optional wine and beer tours, with tasting. We don't have to pay for anything, except our drinks at the bar. Mel and I get separate suites, and the Friday off work. We travel down Thursday evening. Train paid for of course."

"You deserve it Mrs Phillips. You've worked hard for this."

"Thanks. I know I haven't had much time for you. But sales get quieter for the rest of the year, so I thought we might get away somewhere over Christmas and New Year. I'll have my fun at the spa hotel, so you can choose a place, my treat. We have a budget of about £4,500."

"You have deal Em. I fancy Costa Rica."

"Good choice. Just so you know. I'll call you when we get to Brighton but after that, we won't be in touch much; we won't be in our rooms much of the time. And we can't take mobile phones to saunas and massages and so on."

On Saturday, Emma and Melanie went shopping for their trip, giving up their usual night out. Lionel knew this meant they would make a day of it and decided on a pub lunch. He toyed with the idea of calling Steve, Melanie's husband, as he would be in the same boat. He was a nice enough guy and they'd socialised a few times as a foursome. But he was a bit boring and probably wouldn't come anyway. Lionel thought he was shy as he'd never attended any of their wives' company parties.

She was still excited when she got home, and more than a little drunk. She rushed up to the bathroom as soon as she arrived, needing a pee. Then came down and showed Lionel her purchases. He was a little surprised at the skimpy bikini.

"But I'll need it for swimming and the sauna and so on. I chose pink because you like me in pink. I'll wear it again on our Costa Rica holiday."

"Fair enough. And the cocktail dress?"

"The hotel has live music on Saturday night. I think it's to discourage their guests from wandering off for the evening. Mel and I could have a dance. Don't worry; we'll look out for each other. Then we can wear the dresses again at the next company function. No-one will have seen them."

"Makes sense." he agreed. "I hope we still have some money left over for our holiday!"

She punched his arm.

"Of course we do. This was on sale."

Later she dozed off in front of the tv. Lionel left the room when his phone rang, not wanting to wake her. It was Steve - another surprise.

"Hi Lionel, it's Steve McCartney. My Mel's come home drunk and gone to bed early - how about you?"

"Hi Steve, similar. Emma's nodded off on the sofa. I think they must have hit the wine bar pretty hard."

"Good. Fancy a pint up the Carpenter's Arms? You walk there and have a couple. I'll drive over and only have one."

"Sure, why not? But I get the feeling you have an agenda."

"I do. We need to talk."

"So, what's this all about, Steve?"

"When the girls went off mega-shopping, I guessed Mel wouldn't fancy cooking dinner tonight, so decided to fill up at lunchtime. I drove into town to try one of those famous steaks at the Red Lion."

('Shit!' thought Lionel. 'I wish I'd called him now.')

"How was it?"

"Fantastic. I can see why everyone's raving about them."

"You should have called me."

"Sorry. Anyway, I was waiting for my order, when I heard some guys talking at the next table. It sounded interesting so I filmed them, and recorded what they were saying."

"Didn't they object?"

"They didn't realise. I kept moving my thumb up and down the screen so they would think I was reading something."

***

"Well, I think that's sour grapes mate, because you only came third. You can't win it every year; be thankful you got three thousand."

"It's not that at all. My missus and I will get a nice Christmas break on three thousand. I'm pissed off because I think they dropped their knickers for some of those sales. Nearly every one of our customers is a middle-aged male. How can I compete when I have no tits or stockings?"

"That's only rumours. All successful women get gossip like that. Anyway, they're not even getting the full prize. Sharing a room, and only three days."

"No, they're still entitled to a suite each; they'll be taking their husbands."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I have a mate in accounts. The company knocked a day's stay off the prize, and will still pay for two couples. I took my Sandy last year; she had a better time than me! Of course, those two are probably not taking their husbands; they'll be fucking their best customers for three days."

"Oh stop moaning. You're a sore loser."

***

"What do you think?" asked Steve.

"Any chance they recognised you?"

"None. I don't go to their functions so I've never seen any of them before."

"Well, it's obvious they're talking about our girls." said Lionel. "At first, I took the suggestion of sex for sales, with a pinch of salt. But if this prize really is for four, it changes things."

"That's what I thought. We need to find out who's going with them."

"No chance they're springing a surprise on us is there? Maybe they're taking us?"

"Doubtful." said Steve. "It's less than two weeks away. We'd have to organise time off work. Could be a couple of their customers do you think?"

"I don't think so." said Lionel. "To get a sale by having sex with a guy is one thing. But to get one on the basis of a promise? Neither of them could be sure they'd win this till last week."

"Good point. A couple of guys they work with perhaps?"

"Sounds more like it."

"What should we do next?" asked Steve.

"Well I know a guy who works in their accounts department." said Lionel. "I did him a favour at their last party; got him home in a taxi unscathed, so he owes me. Maybe he can find out more about this trip. At the very least he can confirm that it really is for four people."

"Tell you what." said Steve. "I'll try and get some info from the Brighton hotel; I've got one of their brochures. Let's meet here again on Wednesday."

The following Wednesday, they pooled their information. The girls' company confirmed the prize was indeed for two couples. And both winners were taking their 'husbands'. Further digging revealed that during the last week, two other members of staff had booked that same Friday off. One was a Jon Clarkson, single, and at twentytwo, the youngest member of the sales force. Steve vaguely remembered Mel saying she felt sorry for the new boy, and had been helping him. The other was a Craig Scott, married, middle-aged and head of purchasing.

The hotel had been equally forthcoming. There were two pre-paid bookings. An Emma and Craig Phillips, and a Melanie and Jon McCartney. They were allocated adjoining suites; 404 and 406. The company credit card was already on the hotel's system to cover the cost of their activities and excursions. So the ladies would simply have to identify themselves with a passport or driving licence. The 'husbands' wouldn't need any ID.

At Steve's home, he'd discovered Mel had bought a skimpy black bikini, plus some very sexy underwear. Lionel chose not to mention that Emma had loads of stockings and see-through undies. So many, in fact, he'd find it difficult to know what she'd taken unless he searched her case after she'd packed. But close examination of her new bikini revealed she had opened and re-sealed its packaging. He couldn't see the condoms she'd hidden in the pink material, but he could feel them.

"So," said Lionel, "your Mel is planning on fucking a young stud, and my Emma will be fucking an older married man. And there's a good chance this is not for the first time. I can't say I envy either of us. Have you given any thought to what you're going to do?"

"I've done nothing but think about it. Confront Mel now and stop her going? But as you say she's almost certainly taken this Jon under her wing and into bed already. I could steal her passport and driving licence to fuck up her check in, or confront her at the hotel and give this kid a good hiding. I'm not sure. Trouble is I love her."

"Well I'm sure." said Lionel. "I want a divorce. I plan on leaving, and going to live with my dad."

"Really?"

"Yes. I know I sounds like I'm a wimp, but it makes sense."

"Go on."

"My dad runs a successful car repair shop and it's always been the plan that I'd inherit one day. He's getting on a bit now and mum died last year. It'd be good to get out of the rat-race and reconnect with him in his golden years. The business runs itself to be honest, but I already have a few ideas to bring it up to date. So I might just up and go to Lancashire, and leave Emma to it."

"But you'd probably get screwed in a divorce. Wouldn't it be better if you had evidence?" said Steve.

"The courts won't pay much attention to adultery."

"No, but the threat of exposing this married guy as well, might convince her to let you have, well, nearly everything."

"Good point. But I don't want to use a private detective. Maybe the hotel records, and the guys' holiday details, will be enough. What do you think?" asked Lionel.

"Personally, I'd prefer photos," replied Steve, "no matter what I do later on. Even if it's only shots of them flirting by the pool."

"I've had a thought." said Lionel. "Do you still have that techie mate? And do you think he could clone a hotel room card? Or show you how to?"

And with a few false starts, the plan came together.

The following Saturday night, Emma and Melanie went on their usual girls' night out. Steve drove over to Lionel's and explained how the hotel key fobs could be copied. He'd bought two blanks. They'd both taken the next Thursday and Friday off. One cup of coffee and they parted company.

Thursday arrived and the husbands drove down to Brighton in separate cars. Their plans tended to diverge after the first agreed events, so they may want to leave at different times. They arrived around eleven in the morning and went to the front desk. They were wearing nondescript grey sweaters and jeans, and sunglasses.

"Any chance suites 404 and 406 are ready yet?" asked Lionel, showing Emma's and Melanie's passports. "Only our wives have stopped off in town and left us with the cases."

"No problem Mr Phillips - or are you Mr McCartney? Both rooms are ready."

"I'm Craig Phillips." said Lionel, and nodded towards Steve. "And he's Jon McCartney."

She passed them the keys.

"Thanks. We'll bring them straight back, and then find the bar."

They went up and checked the key cards worked. Then Steve cloned them. He'd brought an RFID reader and copied them onto the two blanks, confirming they also worked. They shoved one of their bags into the other empty one and went back down. Steve sneaked it past reception, while Lionel returned the keys. They stashed it behind the bar, telling the barman their room wasn't ready - then had a beer.

An hour later the front desk girl went to lunch. So, now without sunglasses, they checked in to 201, the two-bed room they'd previously booked for themselves.

"What time did you say they'll arrive?"

"About eight thirty tonight." said Steve. "They had best part of an hour to wait for the Brighton train, so Mel said they'd eat at the station."

"Well, if you insist on using that movie camera, let's work this out. They check in, and go to their rooms. Then what? If they've eaten, they'll almost certainly go to the bar."

"Or have a quickie first; christen the hotel bed."

"True." said Lionel. "We'll go out and get dinner, and be back by eight. I'll get comfortable in the lobby and wait for them. The baseball cap and a magazine will ensure they don't recognise me, and I'll make sure they all check in without incident. In the unlikely event the same girl is still on duty, I can't believe she'll say 'These aren't your husbands' or 'Why driving licences? You used passports before.' But best to be sure."

"Right."

"Then, when they're on the way to the lifts, I call you and you slip up to Floor 4, and watch their rooms from the stairwell. If they're going for a drink, they'll be back out in five minutes. More than ten minutes means they're fucking. Then it's up to you if you want to catch them."

The foursome's check-in was going smoothly and Lionel messaged Steve to get in position. He was startled when his phone suddenly rang. It was Emma. Shrinking behind his magazine, he answered quietly. She didn't notice him across the lobby, but it sounded strange to hear her voice from two different sources. He hoped she wouldn't hear the echo.

"Mel and I have just checked in sweetheart."

"Glad you arrived safely." he replied.

"Your voice is very quiet."

"Oh, I'm in the garden. That grey squirrel is back. He says he misses you already."

"Aw, miss him too. Tell him I'll be back Sunday night.

When they hung up, Lionel took a photo of them getting in the lift. Then risked a very quick call to Steve.

"They're in the lift. Emma said to Mel - 'We'll see you in the bar' and Mel replied 'Give us half an hour'. So it looks like we're both in the right place!"

Upstairs, Steve watched them pass and go to their doors. He managed a quick movie clip of each couple entering. He waited five minutes till Emma and Craig reappeared and got in the lift; then went to Mel's door.

404 opened quietly and he slipped inside. Peering round the corner of the bathroom, he saw his wife rutting under her young stud, who looked around 19 or 20 and was certainly well muscled. His buttocks were flexing at an alarming rate. There was only one bedside lamp on, but it was the one nearest Steve. It illuminated Mel's face perfectly; she would be easily recognised. She started to moan and pulled Jon's face onto hers. A quick zoom in and Steve retreated. The noise of their orgasms covered his leaving.

Lionel was waiting for him in 201, and they reviewed the evidence.

"Send the clip of Emma and her guy going into their room to my phone." he said. "I'll confront her tomorrow morning and then we can get back home. We have everything we need now."

Next morning they checked out officially and returned to their room, promising to vacate before noon. Around nine thirty, Emma and Craig appeared under their window, by the swimming pool, and settled onto sun loungers.

"That's my cue." said Lionel. "I'll be ready to leave in about an hour. What's your plan?"

"I'm not sure yet, you go and do your stuff. Call me if I'm not around."

Lionel sauntered along to 406 and let himself in. The first thing he noticed was the two mobile phones. Understandable of course; Emma's bikini was so small, she would have nowhere to put it, and they both had good reason to stay out of touch with people. Craig was obviously super tidy; his expensive leather case was empty, and his clothes stowed away neatly in drawers and hanging in the wardrobe. Lionel gathered them all up and repacked them, ensuring he included Craig's wallet and keys - and both phones.

Typically, Emma's clothes were strewn all over the place. He stuffed them into her case, including all her washing stuff and cosmetics from the bathroom, and her handbag and keys. In the bedside cabinet her condoms were no longer hidden. He studied them for a moment and decided to leave them there. The suite was as it had been when they arrived last night. He left, and headed for the carpark, where he put Emma's case in his car boot. He hung on to Craig's and took it round the side of the hotel. They were lounging on sunbeds and Lionel pulled up a chair and sat beside them, placing the leather bag near the edge of the pool.

"Mr and Mrs Craig Phillips?"

Their reaction was interesting. Craig looked up and said 'Yes?' Emma nearly fell off her lounger, shrieking 'Lionel!'

"Quiet! I need you both to listen. I'm only going to say this once."

Emma started to rise asking 'What are...?' so Lionel rose too and pushed her down.

"I said be quiet and listen!"

She sat back abruptly. Craig flinched, but had the good sense to remain silent.

"I have details of Craig's holiday request and his address." said Lionel.

That wasn't true, but he needed their attention.

"The copy of your hotel registration," he continued, "photographic images of you checking in together, getting in the lift, and entering suite 406, are more than enough for me to file for divorce. And be assured I will be doing just that. When I get home I will leave details of what I want from that divorce, and put them on the dining table. I'll be calling my solicitor shortly, and will leave you his number."

He looked at Craig.

"And you - 'Mr Phillips' - had better look at my wife's divorce terms as well. It is in your best interests to persuade this saleswoman to agree to them. Because if I don't get exactly what I want, that same evidence will be passed to your wife. I don't yet have all the information concerning your company's stance on members of staff, particularly those married to other people, having sex in spa hotels. But I imagine they'll take a pretty dim view of this; especially as they are financing it."

Lionel stood, his shadow falling across them.

"I'm leaving now. I'm sure the rest of your stay will be a lasting memory. Close your mouths; you look like goldfish."

He turned away, knocking Craig's case into the pool.

"Oops!"

Back in the room, there was no sign of Steve, but Lionel noticed he'd cleared away his things and his case was gone. He was probably waiting downstairs somewhere - in the carpark perhaps. He picked up his bag and went down. No sign of Steve in the carpark, though his car was still there. Lionel returned to the lobby and got comfortable; give him a few more minutes.

While he was waiting, he saw Emma and a soaking wet Craig, both wrapped in towels, being led to the lift. A member of staff was carrying a very wet leather bag. Lionel vaguely wondered how that would turn out. Emma was about to find out she had nothing here in Brighton, except a tiny pink bikini. Craig could dry out most of his stuff, but it was unlikely their phones would work again.

He decided he and Steve had better go, in case the lovers came looking for them. He could phone his solicitor from the car, but he called Steve now.

"Mate, where are you?"

"I'm still in the hotel."

"I know that, I'm sitting next to your car. Are you ready to go yet?"

"No, you'd better leave without me."

"You sound out of breath - where are you?"

There was a long pause and Lionel thought he could hear faint voices in the background.

"I'm in Mel's room."

"God! You haven't done anyone a damage have you?"

"No." replied Steve. "I've spoken to Mel and will not be getting a divorce."