The Party Planner

The Interview

When people asked what Jonathan Strauss did for a living, he would tell them, on better days, that he was a writer. He liked to think this was true. He liked to think that all the workshops he had attended, all the pages he had submitted to frigid publishers had earned him the title, but it wasn't what paid the bills. For that, he donned a pressed white shirt and black pants, he carried a party tray and served wine and hors d'oeuvres to middle managers at corporate soirees. He arranged tables and chairs, cleaned up spills and made sure the canapés were always within reach. No one stays in this line of work for very long, which used to make him wonder why he stuck around.

His manager, Tom, was a good guy. He realized this wasn't anyone's dream job and tried to do right by his team. Tom's bosses were the owners of the company: a husband and wife power-couple who, to be fair, worked as hard as anyone else, if not harder. Jon had worked a gig directly under them once. It was a big wedding in Westchester. He had to admire their command of every detail. They kept everyone on their toes, but it brought out the best in their staff, Jon included. That's probably the night they took notice of him.

Tom took Jon out to lunch one day in late August to discuss what he called "career opportunities." After listening to his boss talk at length about his "great work ethic" and "reliability," Jon was sure an offer for full-time was coming and it made him queasy. He was going to be a writer. He did not see himself devoting his life to catering. But then the conversation went in a direction he hadn't expected.

"You're a good-looking guy," Tom said, as if he had just realized it. "You work out a lot?"

"A bit," Jon said.

"You have a girlfriend?"

"Not really."

"Really? A guy like you? I would have thought you'd be getting ass thrown at you."

"I didn't say I wasn't," he replied.

Tom chuckled. He looked around the restaurant, as if to make sure no one was listening, then leaned in. "Sean and Barb want to transfer you to another team. It's really a sister-company called Urban Select. Ever heard of it?"

Jon shook his head.

"Of course you haven't. You're not rich enough to have heard of it. The clientele is high fucking society and, trust me, the parties they like to throw are like nothing you've ever worked before."

"What kind of parties?" Jon asked with suspicion.

Tom swirled the ice around in his glass. "You hang out on porn sites much?" That was all he said about that. He waited for Jon's response until finally the silence became too uncomfortable to bare. "You understand what I'm saying, right?"

Jon furrowed his brow as much as he could. "Ok," he eventually stammered, "So... we cater... orgies?"

Tom nodded vehemently, like a boy who had just been asked if he wanted ice cream.

Jon laughed. "So... how does that work? Am I still just going around serving food, or... " His mind struggled to play out the scenarios in his head. He had never been to an orgy, but what he had gleaned from movies and porn painted a certain picture. "...or what?"

Tom took another, longer sip of his drink. "You do whatever the clients ask of you." He was dead serious now. He looked over the edge of his glass to read Jon's reaction. "So. Before I go any further, you need to tell me if this is something you'd be into. If not, you can go back to serving pigs-in-blankets to tired ol' motherfuckers at team-building retreats. But if you do take the job, you're in a whole other world. You can't talk about anything you see from here on out to anyone ever."

Jon had many questions, the answers to which were all outrageous, but in the end he said yes.

His next meeting was with Sean and Barbara, who, according to their e-mail, were "super-excited" to have him on board. They invited him to their residence in the Financial District one afternoon as a kind of "get to know you" gesture. Though all their communication was reassuring and laid-back, Jon approached the date with the same trepidation he would any high-stakes interview.

He emerged from a private elevator directly into the brightness of their penthouse, where walls of glass presented the skyline of downtown in all its grandeur. Against this backdrop stood his bosses, waiting to welcome him into their very special fold, but not before they were sure their instincts had been correct.

After a few pleasantries and a recap of his conversation with Tom, the real interview began: "Well you have a good look," Barb said, eyeing him from head to toe, "but you can't judge a book by its cover, can you? How's your cock?"

He had expected questions like this, but not so soon. "Pretty good?" was all he could come up with. They still hadn't asked him to sit down.

Barb strutted across the foyer to Jon, her thick heels clattering on the tiled floor. Both her and her husband were annoyingly fit people in their late forties, with a kind of glow that only the most expensive spa treatments can buy. She wore a tight white blouse opened just enough to tease the black lace bra that cupped her eye-popping breasts. An even tighter skirt covered her slender lower half, no more than a lampshade covers a lamp. Her long blond hair had been pulled back in a bun, though shocks of gold curled down into the ruffles of her collar.

"I'd like to see it," she said to Jon, not so much asking as informing. She undid his belt and zipped down his pants. He reluctantly pulled his underwear open for her to peer in. He was beyond nervous, and all those nerves had shriveled his cock down to about the size of an acorn.

"Cute," she said. Her husband grinned, folding his arms as he leaned against the back of a white leather sofa.

"It gets bigger," Jon protested, trying his best to hide his embarrassment.

"Oh, it does? Well then," She adjusted her skirt. "What do you think, Sean? Should we find out if he's telling the truth?"

Sean sighed. "Welp," he said, "All applicants must be vetted."

With a smile she crouched down before her employee and in one motion pulled his pants and underwear just below his ass. His cock fell out of its holster and almost right into her mouth. She sucked on it and batted it around with her tongue and it grew. It grew like a time-lapse flower in bloom, and the more it grew, the happier Barbara looked.

"Ooh, I think you were right," she said between swallows. His legs grew weak as it seemed all the blood in his body was rushing to one central point. His pole was now drenched in her saliva, and each time she took it out of her mouth, she would wave it about like a fan, tapping her cheek with it. The air itself made him harder. Jon started to whisper the name of his maker as she stared up at him, running her tongue along the central vein of his very erect shaft. It throbbed and flicked itself away from her, only to come back for more.

She disengaged with a look of pride on her face. "Take it all off," she ordered. He complied as gracefully as he could, leaving his clothes scattered on the floor around him. She took a moment to drink in his naked body. The blessings of youth were still to be discerned in his powerful limbs and chiseled torso. "Come with me," she said as she took him by the hand. She walked him past her husband to the sofa he had been leaning on. "Don't sit down yet," she whispered, "You still have to undress me."

Jon moved behind her, pressing his naked body hard against hers as his cheek caressed the crook of her neck. He ran his hands from the v-shape between her legs, up her flat abdomen. He could feel the rough texture of the lace bra through her blouse as he pressed her breasts firmly into her chest. Jon listened to her breath quicken as he popped open the buttons of her top. Her breasts burst forth, ready to play, if only someone would free them from their remaining bonds, but he made them wait. He unzipped her waist. Barbara placed her hands on top of his and guided them to her hips. She shook her gorgeous ass a few times as together they slid her skirt down her long, silky legs. He took stock of what they had uncovered. A black lace garter belt was holding up her stockings, but there were no panties to be found - just the soft lips of her shaved pussy.

Jon took two fingers and slid them between his boss's legs, softly caressing her already wet labia, tracing circles around her pronounced clit. She let out a sigh, pressing her ass against his hard cock. Abruptly, she turned around for a long, deep kiss. Jon had kissed many women, but he could count on one hand the ones who played for keeps the way Barbara did. When they were done, she looked at him with an evil grin: "Mmm," was all she said before pushing him back onto the sofa.

Out of the corner of his eye he spied her husband making his way to a tripod Jon had not noticed before. A tiny video camera was mounted on it and he could tell Sean was turning it on to record. A voice inside Jon's head objected, but it was quickly drowned out by the pleasure he was about to receive.

Barbara had climbed up his torso and was straddling his face, slowly lowering her pussy down onto his waiting lips like some obscene arcade game. He loved the way her pussy smelled. He buried his nose deep inside before lapping at her juices. His tongue traced the ridges of her inner labia before zeroing in on what really mattered. Barbara grabbed the back of the sofa as her mouth dropped open.

"Oh. Oh my," she gasped.

"That good, huh?" her husband asked from behind the tripod.

"Uh," was all she could get out. She began swaying her hips back and forth, pushing her box harder and harder into Jon's face. He thought he might pass out from the lack of oxygen, but he didn't care. He kept at it, probing her depths with his tongue, sucking on her swollen clit, licking her soft folds, plunging his fingers into her moist, pink flesh. Later, over some ice cream, they would all watch the video of Jon and Barbara fucking, and he would really get off at the sight of her ass work, the way she pumped her entire pelvis across his mouth, only to lift herself off ever so slightly when the sensation was too much to bear.

Her moaning grew more frequent. With clenched teeth, she undid her bra. Her sumptuous breasts were even bigger than he had assumed, yet so firm they seemed to defy gravity. Now free, they wasted no time bouncing along to the couple's high jinks. Barbara fondled herself in a futile effort to regain control of them. "Oh! Oh yeah," she exclaimed, "Eat that pussy! Oh God..."

She leaned back and felt around for his cock and to her delight, it was still hard. She started stroking it, casually at first, then furiously, as if she were mad at it for not fucking her already. She looked Jon right in the eyes. "I want this inside me," she said.

He repositioned himself higher up on the sofa as Barbara slid herself further down. Slowly she guided his cock between her legs. Her slot was soaking wet, and it took very little coaxing to insert the entire thing. That first thrust seemed to send a bolt of lightning up her body as she arched her back and raised her head to the heavens. Her mouth was wide open, but no sound emerged.

Jon took hold of her waist and slid her up and down, waxing his pole with her juices. His cock was so happy to be where it was. She held onto his shoulders for dear life as he bounced her at a quickening pace. Her rock-hard nipples, these two pink thimbles, slapped him in the face repeatedly. He tried to catch them in his mouth, with only occasional success. He looked down at where they were joined and watched as her pussy lips stretched and contracted around the throbbing veins of his cock.

Barb threw her arms around Jon's neck as her breathing grew shallow and their thrusts became more forceful. There was a dark space between them now, made hot and humid by their breath and sweat. That is where they lived, just them two, where they could focus on the exquisite sensations coming from below. The sound of their bodies slapping against each other echoed through the cavernous apartment, as did Barbara's yelps and moans. Somewhere out there, her husband was recording it all for posterity.

Her breasts heaving, Barbara arched back so they could both get a clear view of the action. Her pussy had swallowed his shaft in its entirety and she was grinding along its length while rubbing her clit as fast as her fingers could go. The look on her face was one of pain and suffering; the sounds coming out of her resembled crying, but Jon knew better.

It was getting close. Jon was starting to lose control and he didn't want that. Not yet. In a panic and without warning, he lifted her off his cock and threw her onto the couch. He stood up panting and the three of them stared at his big purple dick as it bobbed up and down as if to say, "What happened?" He blew on it in a vain attempt to cool it down. His boss smiled devilishly. She knew his condition and her instinct was to go in for the kill. She too sprung up from the leather sofa, only to turn around and bend over an armrest. She stuck her ass straight out at him and with one hand pulled a cheek to one side.

"Fuck me in the ass. Right now," she commanded.

He took a deep breath and pulled aside the other cheek to expose her pretty little hole. Jon spit on his shaft to give it a little more slip, then spit in her ass for extra measure. She liked that. He rubbed the tip of his cock along her butt crack a few times before stuffing it into her. "Oh!" she cried as she grasped desperately at the sofa, like a strap-hanger on a train that had just come to a sudden stop.

A few more pushes is all it took to regain their stride. The video camera whirred along, recording his butt cheeks clenching and relaxing as he pounded her from behind. Sean zoomed in on her breasts jostling back and forth with each thrust. She reached under herself and resumed frantically fingering her clit. Jon and Barbara were both moaning now so loudly that he wondered if the entire skyline could hear.

"Oh God, I'm gonna cum!" she cried. The feeling was mutual. Her ass was so tight, there was no way of backing out this time, so he just went for it, thrusting faster and faster until his legs started to tremble and he could feel the eruption coming. Jon cried out in recognition as what felt like buckets of his cum filled her. His thrusts began to slow down, but she was not done. She kept right on fucking his cock, slapping her ass into his groin, strumming her pussy like a guitar virtuoso.

"Stay in me! Stay in me!" she cried, "I'm gonna.. I'm gonna... oh God!" Convulsions rocked her body. She pulled her hand away from her clit just before her geyser exploded all over her thighs, his shins - nothing within the blast radius was spared. She collapsed back onto the sofa, and he went right along with her, sweaty and exhausted. They laughed and Jon ran his hands over her breasts and inner thighs as she pawed at his chest.

"What are you doing to my couch?" Sean joked as he pointed out all manner of bodily fluids dripping from their various orifices. Barbara raised her still convulsing legs into the air so they could all marvel at the milky white cum oozing out of her ass. She dipped two fingers in it and spread it all over her clit. Sean sat down next to her and she curled up in his arms like a happy kitten.

"Who wants some ice cream?" she asked.