The Party Planner Ch. 03

Marta's Party

The morning of his first orgy was cold and misting. Jon woke up early and went for a run around his pale neighborhood, but it was hard to focus, and he wound up taking a much shorter route than he had planned. He had better luck with his writing, sitting at the one table he could fit in his apartment to get his thoughts down on paper. Before taking a shower, he lay in his empty bathtub with a bowl of water and a razor, shaving the wayward hairs around his cock. After the shower, Jon sat on his bed. He sat there and contemplated what the day and, more importantly, the night had in store.

Thanks to Richard, he had a fairly good idea. His exacting teacher had spent most of the week sharpening his skills as a server, ensuring his calibre matched that of the guests he would serve. And Richard taught him other things, like when and when not to offer champagne to people having sex, how to serve cocaine on a glass platter, the proper way to hand someone a sex toy, and what to do if a guest wanted to fuck you. Jon asked Richard if that happened a lot.

"It depends," he hedged. "The sex workers are usually more than enough, but every now and then there will be a guest who wants to step outside the bounds, and taking advantage of a server is an easy way to do it. You should do your best to avoid these situations, but sometimes it can't be helped."

The week had also introduced Jon to many of his fellow servers. There were about fifty of them in the New York location and, to Jon's delight, not a shiny happy person in the bunch. In Tom's group, there had always been at least one bouncy, proselytizing extrovert who just made shoveling hors d'oeuvres a living hell for the rest of the crew. Not here. While they spanned many demographics, the servers he met were all serious, professional operators, not big on small-talk but quick to lend a hand. And easy on the eyes, Jon noted. He wondered how many of these men and women had been interviewed by Sean and Barb the way he had.

In this run-up to his first orgy, Jon had tried to learn as much as he could about the client, Marta. Most of his co-workers seemed far too bored with the subject to indulge him, but over time he stitched together a curious picture. She had actually been a nanny before striking it big. A family of considerable wealth had brought her in from Ukraine to raise their kids. It did not take long, however, for the man of the house, a hedge fund manager of considerable repute, to notice her assets, so much so that he knocked her up in short order. This led, of course, to a very expensive divorce from his first wife. Nevertheless, he married young Marta and they lived the high life together for twenty years until he suffered a massive heart attack and she inherited a massive bank account.

Even before the death of her husband, Marta had let more than a few of his business partners stick their penises in her vagina. Now, these titans of the banking world were free to congregate in her penthouse and violate her whenever she pleased. It didn't take long, though, for her to grow bored of them - so she turned to their sons. Among this younger set of eager beavers she found satisfaction, and as she grew older she fashioned a role for herself as a patron of sorts. The city's trust-fund heirs (and heiresses) knew that if they needed a space to commit acts of debauchery, Marta's was the place to go.

She started holding salons, where a select few twenty-somethings could come and do drugs and fornicate with her and for her. The salons grew into parties and that's when Sean and Barb were called in. Marta became one of their steadiest customers, holding an orgy at least once a month. They were large affairs, compared to their other events, but easy enough to produce. The guests, especially given their age, did not need much coaxing to have a good time.

Richard had assigned a crew of ten servers to work this Friday's gig. They met two days before in the warehouse to discuss their roles. Staff from other departments were there as well to talk about their duties. There were people for decor, wardrobe, music, lighting, food, security... for such a seemingly straightforward event, it certainly took a lot of people to make it work. They were even joined by Vera, who, to everyone's surprise, had been appointed team leader this go-around. Because it was Jon's first time, the principals were extra deliberate in going over the setup and who was expected to be where and when.

The team looked at a floor plan of Marta's apartment. It spanned three floors, and certain servers were assigned to certain floors. Most of the action would take place on the first level, though, where the bar was, as well as the main living space. That's where Jon would be.

"You'll be shadowing Shannon," Richard told him. "She will be carrying champagne trays; you will follow her with small foods. Listen to her instructions and you'll be fine." Jon exchanged polite smiles with Shannon. She was an attractive, middle-aged woman with a messy beehive of red hair, impeccable make-up to augment her fair skin, and a classic hourglass figure. She was no-nonsense, from what he could tell, and the few times she spoke were so inside-baseball that he had no idea what she was talking about.

Vera went over the guest list, pointing out who required special attention and who could be cultivated for future business. Jon did not recognize any of the names, save one. When Vera announced that Athena Ross would be coming, the entire room stirred in amazement. She was one of those 'famous for being famous' types who come from obscenely rich families and whom the tabloids love because they're young, hot as hell, and spend their money in obnoxious ways. Teenage girls everywhere wanted to be like her, much to the despair of their parents and civilization as a whole.

After the briefing, Jon caught up with Shannon to thank her in advance for babysitting him. She laughed and told him not to worry.

"By the end of the second hour, no one will even know you're there," she said in her breathy voice.

Realizing they were both on their way home, Shannon and Jon agreed to walk to the subway together, which in Hell's Kitchen was a longer walk than one would think. They talked about the weather and how they fell into their current job.

"I was a waitress in a lounge at the Biltmore," Shannon said. "Sean came in one night and tried to talk me up to his room." She smiled. "Typical Sean, right? Anyways, I shut him down, cool as a cucumber. Still, he kept coming back, night after night. On, like, his fifth rejection, he asked me what I was making as a waitress at the hotel. I told him. He gave me his card and told me I would be making five times that much if I came to work for him. So here I am."

"What did you think when you found out about... all this?"

"Eh. When you work an upscale hotel, you see a thing or two. Rich guys and their hobbies. That's the way the world works, for some. It doesn't phase me. And I really am making five times what I made before, so there's that. I'll stomach a lot for that kind of money."

She stared pensively at the sidewalk in front of her as they trod along, giving Jon ample opportunity to drink her in. Her long eyelashes, the pearl necklace, the way she spoke and carried herself reminded him of the kind of girl airmen would paint on the sides of their planes in the Forties and Fifties. A real bombshell.

They came to the subway entrance, where they would part ways. He was going uptown; she was New Jersey-bound. He felt compelled to ask her if she had any plans tonight, if she wanted to, you know, go grab a drink or something. She laughed and shook her head.

"Sorry," she said, "I have to go pick my kid up from preschool. Some other time, maybe." And she walked away, cool as a cucumber.

Marta's multi-million dollar apartment was in one of the newer skyscrapers on Billionaire's Row, just south of Central Park. The crew pulled into the building's loading dock at around four in the afternoon and divested the truck of its provisions. They were a scruffy lot in their street clothes. Only later would they change into their formal wear.

Upon entering the residence, Jon was struck by the breathtaking view of the park, but he had little time to admire it. There were racks of food to roll into the kitchen, a bar to stock, flowers to be arranged. The apartment boasted huge, open spaces and everything seemed to be made of glass, including the staircases leading to the upper floors and the many galleries which afforded views of the living space below. The coldness of the glass was tempered not only by the view of the park, but also the countless animal furs draped over much of the furniture. A thin waterfall trickled down a glittering mosaic wall from the top floor and seemed to disappear below the floor of the first level.

Marta was nowhere to be seen, nor were any performers from the warehouse. Jon did notice Vera furiously coordinating with a woman he assumed to be Marta's assistant. He found it comical how similar these two women were in appearance and demeanor.

"She's rusty," another waiter observed. "Vera hasn't been hands-on in a long time. She's gotta be so scared she's gonna to screw something up."

Jon spent most of this time in the kitchen laying out trays of hors d'oeuvres, freshly prepared by two chefs he had met at Wednesday's briefing. The rotund and amiable Hector and Ray bickered like a married couple when they weren't ragging on the servers who dared enter "their" kitchen, but their abuse was far too lighthearted to be taken seriously.

"'Ey, Newboy," Hector teased, "You better watch out for Marta, Newboy. She gotta nose for fresh meat. She gets your scent tonight? Man, that's it for you."

Ray backhanded Hector in the chest. "Don't you smell his cologne? I think he's gunning for a little ride on the Marta Express. That's ok, though. Nothing wrong with Marta, my friend."

"The Hostess with the Mostess," Hector exclaimed.

It grew dark outside, and at a certain point all the candelabras had been placed, the lines of cocaine arranged in neat rows, and the champagne flutes prepped for pouring. Jon followed the other servers to the building's basement, where they could shower and change into their costumes. Secretly, Jon had hoped to catch a revealing glimpse of Shannon, but the first look he got of her was when she stepped out of her changing room wearing the same Victorian-era tuxedo as he. They took a moment to admire the earth tones of the fabric.

"Ready?" she asked.

"I hope so," he replied.

The servers went back upstairs to find all the candles lit and and the music keyed up on the audio system. The carnal sounds of slow electronica pulsed through the apartment. Every so often, a female vocalist could be heard sighing over the instrumentals.

They took their places at their appointed stations. Shannon by the bar, Jon by the kitchen door. Each server was given an empty silver tray to hold when they weren't holding anything else. They stood there like totems and watched Vera and her counterpart go over the guest list one last time and triple-check their arrangements with the doormen downstairs. Marta was still nowhere to be seen.

Finally, word was given that the first guests were on their way up. Jon hadn't expected to feel as tense as he felt at that very moment. His chest was tight. His heart started racing and no amount of deep-breathing would get it to slow down. It wouldn't be good to have a heart-attack at his first gig, he thought. He started to feel light-headed and that's when the panic set in. He had the urge to bend over and put his hands on his knees, but he resisted, opting instead to make his way into the kitchen. Shannon gave him an aggravated look as she watched him crash, tray in hand, through the swinging door.

Inside the kitchen, Ray and Hector stopped seasoning shrimp skewers to stare at Jon, who stood there like a deer caught in headlights, gasping for air.

"Dude, what are you doing here?" Hector asked. "Shouldn't you be at your post?"

"The first guests... are coming," Jon panted. It sounded like he had just run a marathon.

Ray gave him a quizzical look. "We know, homes. Is that what you ran in here to tell us?"

Jon took two deep breaths and stood up straight. Somehow, interacting with the chefs had been enough of a distraction. He was back in control now. The spell had been broken. "Yeah," he said, "Wasn't sure you knew."

"Well, it ain't time for the food yet," Ray said, "so get your ass back out there."

Jon nodded and straightened himself out before resuming his post, much to the relief of the servers who had witnessed his retreat.

The first guests were already stepping down from the foyer into the sunken living room. Despite the music, Jon could hear them commenting on the decor and joking about their early arrival. There were three couples, all in their mid-twenties and all impeccably dressed. The men wore slim-fitting, three-piece suits that, like the servers' tuxedos, looked as if they belonged to an earlier period. The young women wore simple yet elegant party dresses that must have cost someone a small fortune.

Even through the darkness, Jon could tell this was an attractive bunch. The men and women alike could have easily been models, and for all he knew, they were. He took note of the high cheekbones, the flawless bare shoulders, the long, slender torsos and legs. Most of all, it was their correct posture and confident gait that gave their breeding away. It must have taken generations of trophy wives and alpha males copulating to create such specimens. As with his visit to the warehouse's third floor, Jon felt an inferiority complex looming over him.

He noticed there was something familiar about one of the women. Jon watched as she took advantage of the open space to twirl around with her arms wide, as if she were auditioning for the Sound of Music. With a contented sigh, she plopped herself into a couch, amidst a collection of fluffy white furs. Shannon was promptly at her side with a tray of flutes, asking if she would like some champagne or something else from the bar.

More people arrived and Shannon directed Jon to the kitchen to pick up his first tray of food: caviar on toast. He followed her around to all the guests, who, to Jon's mild surprise, engaged him as a peer. His caviar tray, with its bone spoon and assortment of toppings, was a big hit. As they shoveled hard-boiled egg and red onion onto their fish eggs, the group talked about the openings and closings of their favorite restaurants in the city.

So far, this did not at all seem like a gathering that would devolve into wanton depravity. There were no sex workers to be seen, and still no Marta. The guests didn't even act like her presence was required. And really, with Vera receiving at the doors, and the servers running food and drinks, the only role Marta had to play was one she would create for herself.

Now a steady stream of party-goers were handing in their coats and cell phones at the vestibule. Many of the women had opted for clubwear as opposed to the classic look, but it was all unmistakably haute couture. The sound of conversation became a wall of noise, competing with the throbbing music. The six servers on the floor were now fully employed, running food and drinks back and forth.

It just so happened that Jon noticed the girl on the couch wave to a new arrival. She waved by opening and closing her fingers, and that's when he realized where he had seen her before: she was the girl on the bike; the one he had noticed in the exercise room at the warehouse. She looked completely different with her hair and make-up done, but it was her, he was certain of it. Jon stopped to let his discovery wash over him: there were ringers amongst the guests.

He quickly looked around to see if there was anyone else he recognized. Almost immediately he spotted two guys from Miss Maggie's class, very dashing in their suits, chatting with one another. And then he saw her. She was standing near the bar talking to a hungry young man, sheathed in a tight black dress and fishnet stockings. It was apparent that Itchy had already noticed Jon, and was stealing glances at him when she could. A faint smile barely moved her lips when she saw that he had finally noticed her, too.

"What are you doing?" Shannon asked. "Get a fresh tray and follow me, please."

There was now a modest crowd in Marta's apartment. Jon could even see guests milling in the galleries overhead. Drinks were flowing and he could tell people were getting loose. Women were swaying their hips to the music, pulling their partners close to whisper indecencies in their ears. Men were secretly caressing the backsides of their dates while talking to other prospects.

There were many runs back and forth to the kitchen. Every so often, Hector and Ray would say something outrageous to rile Jon up ("Hey Jon! Have you gotten any pussy yet?") as he picked up another tray and rushed out the door.

While offering guests his tray, Jon brushed elbows with Renée, another server on the team. He had to do a double-take, because he was sure Renée was supposed to be working the third floor. In fact, Renée was the only server assigned to the third floor. Jon paused for a moment to watch him make his way through the crowds. Renée was holding a small mirrored tray with a single folded card on it. He bent over a seated young man and whispered in his ear. The young man took the card, read it, and nodded.

Every now and then, Jon would pass Ichika and sometimes even serve her. She would smile at him politely as she took food from his tray, then turn back to her 'date.' They stood awfully close to one another, each with a scotch glass in hand. Jon could only catch snippets of their conversation. The young man was trying to convince her to come with him to Avignon in the summer, when the lavender festivals were in full swing. She laughed flirtatiously at his suggestions, fingering the pendant that hung around her neck.

It was well into the second hour that Jon saw his first piece of flesh. He was on his way back to the kitchen when he just happened to glance at a couple fondling each other. They both seemed out of it, perhaps drugged or intoxicated. She had one arm hooked around his neck, as if that was the only thing keeping her standing. Her other hand was mindlessly hiking up her already short dress, exposing her silk panties underneath. The guy kissed her deep as he slid his fingers between her legs, pulling aside the underwear and stroking her pink, clean-shaven pussy.

Jon had to force himself to keep walking. One of the first things Richard had taught him was to not react in the slightest to any of the sexplay he would see, but it was hard.

Before he took two more steps, however, he was witnessing yet another display. A tan young woman had untied the haltertop of her dress to show off her breasts to her friends. The breasts were a little too large for her slight frame, and a little too round to be real, but that did not make them any less appealing. One of her girlfriends playfully groped them as if to test their firmness. Then one of her male friends poured some champagne over them. She yelped in mock outrage but was quickly subdued when he proceeded to lick her breasts clean. She bit her lip and fondled his hair as he wrapped his tongue around one of her plump nipples.

A hand went down on Jon's shoulder. "Do you see that huddle over there?" Shannon nodded her head at a large cluster of people by some couches. "Pass through that group with an empty tray. Gather glasses and trash. There are people who will want their hands free right about now."

The group was standing in a circle around a single couch, like tourists watching a street performance. Here and there, women were reaching into their men's suit jackets and caressing their chests. Men were absently rubbing the crotch area of their pants. It wasn't until he had penetrated the inner ring that Jon could see what they were seeing.