The Party Planner

Waiting for Input

"Athena Ross has no talent!"

"What? Get the fuck out of here!" The woman with the frizzy hair seemed to take personal offense. "Millions of people watch her show every week! I mean, she must be doing something right." She brushed aside her locks to take a sip of wine as others chimed in.

"Did you see the episode where she tries to work at a soup kitchen?"

"Yes! And she practically gets driven out by the end?"

"She also has a cosmetics line..."

"I know! She's a successful businesswoman!"

"Nah, nah, don't give me that," replied the man who had leveled the charge. He pushed his thick-framed glasses up to the bridge of his nose. "Where would she be if it weren't for that ass of hers?"

"Where I want to be," said the woman with frizzy hair. "Filthy stinking rich."

Everyone laughed.

"I weep! I weep for our future," said the man with the thick-framed glasses. He looked around the group for reinforcements. He settled on the stranger buried in a corner of the couch. "How about you? Are you as far gone as these philistines?"

"I don't know what to tell you," Jon said, taking a swig from his bottle. "I don't watch those shows."

"My man." The guy held up his hand for a high-five. Jon leaned forward to comply.

Claire must have thought these were people Jon would get along with when she parked him here on this couch. Compared to the rest of the crowd, it was true enough. Most of the party-goers looked like they worked for Dornstadt-Werner, the mega-bank that employed both Claire and Terry. Everyone was dressed just the right amount of hip for Williamsburg, but the crispness of their collars and cuffs betrayed that these were not the local artists or shop owners the neighborhood had once been known for. There were a lot of alphas here, which made the undercurrent of many a conversation a dog fight.

He looked around Terry's apartment. It was nice, he had to admit. Modern, spacious, and being just a block from the East River, it had a great view of Manhattan. Rent on a place like this in Brooklyn? It would have run ten, maybe fifteen thousand a month. Or perhaps Dornstadt picked up the tab. The big banks were known for giving their best employees corporate apartments and memberships for amenities throughout the city. In New York, if you worked for the right people, you could practically live for free.

One of the women was regaling the others with a story of how she had once seen Athena leaving a bakery in Chelsea. Jon decided to get some food from the spread in the dining room, but it was a lonely walk and he found himself looking for Claire instead.

If he hadn't already been in a foul mood, the music at this party would have done it for him. That over-produced, autotuned crap was everywhere these days. He hated it for what it was, and he hated it because hating it made him feel old. This was not a dance party anyway, for which he was thankful. The day had been spent writing, to the detriment of his recovery from the night before. He had had the notion to just skip tonight, but the allure of Claire was too much to resist.

He saw her standing out on the balcony. She was talking with some friends and, by the looks of it, having a good time. Her poise and her smile gave Jon pause. She had such a bright, steady personality. You could tell how sharp she was by just looking at her. She belonged among the movers and shakers, to be sure. Jon had no doubt he would see her making news one day.

He was just about to head over to her when a hand clapped down on his back.

"Jon! How's it going, man? Thanks for coming to my party." Terry seemed genuinely pleased to see him, though that might have been the alchohol masking his usual condescension. When Claire and Jon had still been dating, Terry was omnipresent. He was always there when Jon met Claire at a bar after work, always there when they went out with her friends to a movie. Terry liked to hang out with the girls from the office. He loved to talk shop and tell in-jokes that Jon would not get. Jon had once heard the women gossip about how Terry was the most fuckable guy in the department, and quite a few of them had put that notion to the test. But not Claire, at least, not that he knew of.

"Thanks for having me. I like your place."

"Thanks, man."

"So what's the occasion?"

"What?"

"For the party. Is there something to celebrate? Or did you throw a party just because?"

"Nah, just for the hell of it. No. Wait. That's not entirely true. See that guy over there? That's my buddy Ted. Me and him just negotiated a merger between two local banks in Bumblefuck, Indiana. Got a massive commission for it, too, so we're spreading the wealth, you know?"

"Oh. Wow. Congratulations."

"Thanks, man. Don't tell anyone, though. It's still under wraps. Yeah, the bosses are happy... So how about you? You still in the catering business?"

"Yep."

"Cool, cool. Hey! I should have gotten your outfit to cater my party! That would have been awesome. Do you guys wear fancy uniforms and all that?"

"Sometimes. It depends."

"What are you two up to?" Claire had snuck up on Jon and Terry with a look of real concern on her face, but her attempt to seem threatening was thwarted by her cute button nose and other pixie-like features. Though she was quite tall, her lithe frame did more to arouse than to menace.

Nevertheless, Terry held up his hands in surrender. "Nothing, nothing. We're just talking about our jobs, is all."

"Oh, God," Claire protested, "Please. Talk about something else."

"Hey, did you tell Jon about your promotion?" Terry asked, ignoring her plea.

"No..." Jon interjected.

"I'll tell you later. It's no big deal," Claire mumbled. She brushed the tawny hair from her forehead.

"Bullshit," Terry said. He gestured towards Claire as if he were presenting a prize on a game show. "This woman here is going to work for Doha's energy and power group." He slipped his arm around Claire's waist. "That is one hot ticket," he added. "Beat out six other analysts."

Staring at the hand on Claire's hip, Jon clenched his jaw. "Doha?"

Claire shook her head at him. She did not want to talk about it. At least, not at that moment.

"Yeah, man. Have you ever been? It's awesome. Hot as hell, but they really know how to live out there."

Jon shot Claire a withering look. "They have any writing workshops over there?"

Terry looked very confused. "I guess so..."

Claire sighed. "That's how we met," she explained. "We took the same creative writing workshop at the Society of Writers."

"Really? Claire? I didn't know you wrote stories. How come you never told me? Are any of them about me?"

"I don't," Claire said bitterly. "I just thought I did."

The comment dropped like a rock at their feet. Jon and Claire stared at each other in a cold silence until finally Jon turned to Terry and asked him where his bathroom was.

"Oh. There's one just down the hall. If that's taken, you can use the one in my bedroom all the way in the back."

As he walked away, Jon could not hear precisely what Claire was saying to rebuke Terry, but he could tell she wasn't going easy on him.

He made a beeline for the bedroom, hoping it would provide him the seclusion he needed to reset himself, but he walked in on a couple having sex on Terry's bed. A middle-aged man lay on his back, jackhammering the much younger woman on top of him. She wore a school girl skirt that was hiked up over her lush backside. It quivered at the pounding coming from below. The pair stoppped fucking to stare at Jon.

"Sorry," he said. "Just need to use the bathroom."

He walked right past the couple and closed the bathroom door to the sounds of their snickering. Jon stared at himself in the mirror and wondered how he could leave this party right now without drama. In his pants pocket he felt the vibration of his phone receiving a message. He looked at it with suspicion.

feel like some ice cream? was all it said.

This time, the couple did not stop when Jon walked by. The girl seemed to revel in her shamelessness as her eyes followed him out the door.

Jon grabbed his jacket from the vestibule and had his hand on the front doorknob when Claire intercepted him.

"Hey," she said. "Are you leaving?" It was more an accusation than a question.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm tired. I had a long night last night. I should really get to bed."

"Ok." She sounded resigned. "Look, I wanted to tell you about Doha tonight. That asshole fucked it up for me."

"It's ok," Jon said. He tried his best to feign indifference. "So when do you go?"

"It's not for another three months and it probably won't be for long. A year, maybe."

Without wanting to, Jon sighed. "Well, if you need any help with the move, let me know." He had not let go of the doorknob.

"Thanks," she said. "I have guys for that. But," she placed a hand on the doorknob as well. "I do want to see you before I go."

Jon did not look at her. He didn't say anything. He just smiled a fake smile and nodded.

"Why don't you hang around a little longer," Claire asked. "I want to hear how things are going."

"I can't. I have to go. I just got a text from my boss."

"Now? It's past midnight."

"I know. What can you do? Look, I'll talk to you later this week, ok?"

"Jon..."

"I gotta go."

It felt good to be back under the street lights. Jon walked at a brisk pace, trying to shake off the feeling that he had done wrong by Claire. She did not owe him anything. He certainly could not expect her to derail her career for the hope that they might one day rekindle whatever they had shared. Perhaps what really bothered him was the prospect of losing the one person in New York City who had actually cared for him at some point.

It was a quick subway ride from Brooklyn to the Financial District and the flat of Barb and Sean. The elevator opened onto the familar luxury of their home, but it was dark and no one could be seen in the open spaces. Somewhere in the apartment, Jon could hear the faint rumbling of a dryer, its contents clattering against the drum. For a split-second, Jon wondered if he had misinterpreted the text, but the concierge downstairs had known he was coming. The pop of a bottle ceding its cork put a sudden end to his doubt. Only then did he see Barb by the kitchen island.

She poured two glasses of red wine and brought them over to Jon. The moonlight and the glow of the city coated her exquisite proportions in a ghostly highlight. Her body was wrapped in a silk and lace ensemble that strongly resembled a spider's web. It did nothing to cover the body parts that mattered most. Her gorgeous breasts and naked pussy were framed nicely by the gossamer bands of the lingerie.

Without saying a word, she handed him one of the glasses, looked at him in earnest as she took a sip of her own, then walked away. Jon admired her perfect ass as it kneaded itself with each long-legged step. He followed her through the penthouse. She led him to the bedroom, grabbing the wine bottle from the kitchen island in passage. Inside the room, he could see Sean lying on the bed, waiting for them, flicking his semi-hard cock against his belly.

Jon stood in the doorway as Barbara placed the bottle on a nightstand and crawled onto the bed. Like a lioness she stalked her husband, brushing away the sheets between her and her prey. She was at his cock now, massaging its base and stroking it firm. Barb looked back at Jon one more time, as if to say, "Watch this," and licked the shaft's entire length. Jon could hear a long exhale leak out of Sean like a dying breath. She wrapped her pouty lips around the tip and soon most of his cock had disappeared into her mouth.

There was a comfy chair by the nightstand. Jon made for it, discarding his clothes like breadcrumbs along the way. He was momentarily distracted by the large television on the far wall. It was turned on, but set to a blue screen, which gave the room an electric hue. The message "WAITING FOR INPUT" danced within its borders.

He was down to his jeans when he sat. He caught Barb taking in his bare torso as she sucked her husband's cock. In a streak of vanity, Jon tensed his muscles to make them bulge a little more. He raised his legs, and in one motion slid off his jeans. Like a tailor presenting a finished garment, he lay out his waking cock for inspection. An eyebrow raised. She took Sean's pole out of her mouth long enough to catch her breath and shoot Jon an admiring smile. Barb slapped the penis against her cheek a few times before devouring it again.

Jon took a sip of wine as he watched the couple perform for him. His other hand found its way down to his crotch. His dick was nearly hard, and it only took a few strokes to bring it to full capacity. He thrust his pelvis forward to give Barbara a better view.

Her husband had his eyes shut and was sighing contentedly. He clutched at a mess of her blond hair to guide her head up and down his staff. Faster and faster. He was getting close, Jon could tell. Barb gave his cock a few last jerks before sitting up. She crawled up to the headboard and Jon thought she was positioning herself for penetration, but instead she reached behind the board and drew out long, black chains, complete with shackles, which she looped through rings on the bed frame and soon had fastened to Sean's wrists. She pulled at the chains until there was not an ounce of give and Sean's arms were stretched to their limits.

She sashayed to the base of the bed and did the same to his ankles. Jon thought he could hear Barb humming to herself as she worked. When she was done, she walked over to the nightstand and took a sip from her wine. She picked up the bottle and turned to face Jon. She gave him a look of steely resolve and, without taking her eyes off him, poured the entire contents of the bottle onto her husband's head. He spat and gasped for breath as the wine splashed over his face. The satin pillows and sheets around him were instantly stained red and soaking wet.

Barb shook the bottle a few times to make sure every last drop had fallen on Sean. She tossed it aside and held out her hand for Jon. He stood for her, and she walked him to the base of the bed where the dim light of the bedside lamp could still reach. They embraced tenderly while Sean still struggled to expel wine from his nose. Barb put her head on Jon's chest and slow-danced with him as she hummed a tune to herself. She looked at her husband to make sure he was watching, then gave Jon a long, passionate kiss. She wrapped a leg around his, ran her fingers through his hair, and moaned softly into his mouth. Jon felt compelled to respond with equal affection.

She looked deep into his eyes when their kiss was done, then slid down every ridge of his torso until her cheek was brushing the warm contours of his manhood. She slipped it into her mouth and covered it from tip to base in her thick saliva. Jon let out a long sigh of his own. She was the best cocksucker he had ever known. It almost didn't seem fair.

He could feel his cock swelling with pleasure and was desperate to put it to use. With two strong hands under her arms, he brought Barb up to his level, and in one decisive motion, he turned her towards her husband and bent her over the bed. A tiny gasp spilled from her lips, betraying how much she liked being manhandled, but that was not the role Barb was here to play. Not tonight. She disengaged from him, climbing onto the bed, crawling over her bound husband to the headboard, where she sat upon a mound of pillows just above Sean's head.

She smiled at Jon and spread her legs wide to showcase the shimmering pink that lay within. As she caressed her inner thigh, Barb reached under a pillow and took out what looked to Jon like a white coaster. With an index finger, she beckoned him to come.

Jon took a moment to consider, then, warily, crawled onto the bed. He did his best to get past Sean without going over him, but when Jon got to the top of the bed, he was at a loss. He could not figure out how to position himself to enter his lover. Ultimately, he knew that any solution would involve straddling Sean's body, so that is what he did. For balance, Jon placed his hands on the headboard on either side of Barb and, with great reluctance, all but sat on Sean's chest.

Barb wrapped her arms around Jon's torso, groping the musculature of his back, as he continued to puzzle out this position. All the hesitation had made his cock soften a bit, and he was beginning to worry he would need to abort the whole campaign. Barbara did little to help. She kissed his neck and nibbled on his ear before leaning back against the headboard to finger her pronounced clit.

"I want my husband to suck your cock," she said. Those were the first words she had spoken to him.

A panic overtook Jon. This wasn't his wheelhouse. He looked down at the man between his legs. The expression on Sean's red-stained face seemed to suggest he had not anticipated this. But he didn't seem bothered by it, either. Whatever his wife wanted is what his wife would get. The question was whether Jon felt the same way. If there was any argument for not walking out at that very moment, it was the fact that these were his employers, and he needed the job. But there was more to it than that. From the moment they hired him, both Sean and Barb had made him feel truly wanted, and that was a hard thing to turn his back on.

"I want my husband to suck your cock," Barb repeated. She clutched at Jon's pole and positioned it on the lips of her husband. Sean lifted his head and without fanfare took Jon's chub into his mouth. Jon closed his eyes, unable to comprehend what he was doing and what was being done to him. He gripped the headboard a little tighter. Sean's lips skimmed his shaft as much as he could manage. It was a poor effort, which made it hard for Jon to pretend it was Barb wrapped around his cock.

Barbara, in the meantime, was busy tying Jon's hands to the headboard. The white coaster had turned out to be a spool of silk ribbon, which she was wrapping far too tightly around his wrists and looping through ornamental gaps in the board. Soon, Jon was unable to extricate himself from the position he was in. His meat had nowhere else to go but in Sean's mouth.

Barb grabbed his tight ass and pushed it further into their huddle, encouraging his cock deeper down her husband's throat. Sean began to gag, but she didn't care. Eventually, Jon decided it would be easier on Sean if he started thrusting on his own. His eyes were still closed as he tried to focus on the sensation and not so much on who was causing it. Every now and then, his shaft would pop out of Sean's mouth and a thrust would almost go up the man's nose, but it would only take a few external licks before they were back on their proscribed course.

The good feeling in Jon's cock began to swell again and a small grunt escaped his lips. Barb gave him a deep kiss as a reward. She was utterly joyful at the sight of her new stud thrusting his member into her restrained husband, and the more Sean seemed to struggle with it, the more Barb seemed to like it.

"Oh yeah," she exclaimed. "Fuck my husband's mouth. Make that little cocksucker swallow every last inch of you." Barb continued to massage the folds of her flower.

Jon's grunting grew more frequent. His shins were damp and his wrists were numb, but he had finally given in to the moment. He drew a certain satisfaction from choking his one boss with his dick while watching his other boss punish her clit. Barb plunged multiple fingers into her hole. The wet suction of her pussy was audible. Her butt cheeks tensed and relaxed over and over, simulating the convulsions that would surely come.

Finally, her frenzy overwhelmed other concerns. She slid her pelvis down the mound of pillows and on top of her husband's head, forcing Jon to pull out of him. Where once had been the man's mouth was now the woman's dripping wet slit.