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.
