The Dinner Party

Stan Greenburg -- retired billionaire -- peered over his glasses at the fat, snaggle-toothed grandma sitting across the table. She's not as old as she looks, he thought. Probably only in her forties. She reeked of stale tobacco smoke.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Marsha McCoy."

"And you want to be a housekeeper?"

"Yup."

"This is a pretty big house. It's got twenty bedrooms."

"I knows the place," Marsha stated. "It's been a nursin' home up till you bought it. We'z all wonderin' what a city man is doin' buyin' a nursin' home out here in the holler."

Stan had bought the place for a song. The first thing he did was surround the property with razorwire atop a chainlink fence. And then he brought in his construction crew from New York to fix it up -- he needed space for women and guests. A lot of money got spent on his own living quarters -- a sumptuous master bedroom, and a spacious sitting room, adjoining a large porch with a beautiful view of the mountains. He had the kitchen built to specs for his long-time personal chef, Jemima Brown.

Finally there was the dining room, with a table that could seat twenty, along with the accompanying chandelier. The walls sported painted portraits of distinguished gentlemen from the 19th Century. Stan had no idea who they were, but they looked very formal and intimidating. Oddly, Stan had installed a hand wash sink in the corner of the room.

No better place than out among the hillbillies if you want to enjoy a harem undisturbed. He'd picked a spot 150 miles from the nearest airport.

"I'll pay you a thousand bucks a week. Cash. You can keep your welfare benefits."

"A thousand bucks ..?" Marsha stared at him, unbelieving.

"Yes. A thousand bucks a week. But there is a catch."

Her eyes narrowed. "What?"

"You have to procure for me."

"Procure?" She looked to the portraits for explanation. "You mean you want me to get you drugs? That's easy. I can do that!" She smiled broadly.

"No, no. Not drugs. Actually, I don't want any drugs on the premises at all. Your job is to keep them out, not bring them in.

"What I want are women. Women who will take care of my guests and me."

"You mean you want prostitutes? How the hell am I s'posed to find hookers for you?" Marsha looked angry. "What are you? Some kind of pervert?"

"I'm a rich pervert, and you'll get some of that money if you do as I ask. Here are the specifics. First, you get a thousand a week for doing housekeeping. That means vacuuming, dusting, making beds -- all that stuff.

"Then next month I'm hosting a dinner party. Along with me, there will be three other gentlemen present. I need four girls to take care of us. They must be willing to do any sexual favors we request, though we won't hurt them or tie them up.

"For every girl who shows up, you get a $500 bonus. The girls will each be paid a thousand dollars for 24 hours. They will be expected to fuck, suck, strip, dance, serve, and otherwise entertain all of us. For every girl who doesn't show -- or doesn't perform -- your pay will be docked by $500.

"Are you in or out?"

Marsha stared at him, speechless. "Where'm I s'posed to git these girls?"

"Do you have any children, Marsha?"

"Yeah. Three. A son and two daughters." She paused, horrified. "You're not suggestin', are you ...?"

"Not necessarily. It could be they have some friends who need some extra money. Remember, it's all paid in cash. Nobody loses their welfare. And I need to meet these young ladies in advance. For quality control, you understand."

*********************

Marsha was dressed in the Salvation Army's finest. She'd washed and combed her stringy hair, and had even put on lipstick. Makes her look like a pig, thought Stan. But she looked as good as she could. Props for that.

The doorbell rang and Marsha went to open. The three guests had arrived.

The Police Chief entered first. "Hi Marsha," he smiled. "Surprised to see you working here." Marsha nodded, uncomfortably. "Marsha and I go way back," he told Stan. "We grew up on the same street." He looked her over. "You're lookin' good tonight, Marsha. Ya'know, she was a pretty girl when she was younger. Since then she's been an occasional customer of mine."

The Chief stood 6'5" in his stocking feet, and should've weighed 250 pounds. But he was at least a hundred pounds overweight. He wore suspenders.

Next came the Mayor, another plump man, but a lot shorter than the Chief, even shorter than Stan. He dressed nattily, wearing a suit and tie. The freshly shined oxfords caught Stan's eye.

"I'm an ex-Marine. Retired as a sergeant," the Mayor explained. Looking to the lady, he added "We miss you over at City Hall, Marsha. I'm glad to see you again."

"I miss you, too."

"Yeah. We'd hire you back, but -- you know -- we can't. Not with the arrests."

"Arrests?" queried Stan, worried.

"Dipshit stuff," said the Chief. "Drug possession. Practically everybody in this town has that on their record. But we can't hire them anymore. State law."

"I'm glad you're working here," said the Mayor.

The gaunt, elderly gentleman was last through the door. Dressed neatly in khakis, he had a full shock of white hair, with wire-rim glasses adorning his face.

"Hello," he said, shaking Stan's hand. "I'm the school Principal. I hear you're from New York?"

"Yes. I am."

"I grew up in Buffalo. Attended Buff State College. Then got a job here as Principal. Been here ever since. Along with Doc Charles I'm one of the few people with a college degree around here. It's like being the one-eyed man in the land of the blind.

Hi, Marsha. Glad to see you've landed on your feet."

"Hello, Sir. Can't say I'm happy to see you. Brings back too many memories." She smiled.

"Don't sweat it, dear," consoled the Principal. "There's a lot of water under the bridge. No hard feelings." And then to Stan, he added "Marsha didn't do so well in school. She tended to get into trouble."

"Never cared fer school much."

Stan ushered them into the sitting room. "Care for aperitifs, gentlemen?" Marsha served a dry vermouth -- per Stan's instructions, of course. Otherwise she'd have no idea what an aperitif was. Indeed, earlier that afternoon Marsha and the girls had rehearsed the entire meal, eating the food and sampling the drinks. That way they wouldn't be hungry and they'd know what was going on.

"Have you ever had tapas, gentlemen?"

"Can't say as I have," answered Chief.

"I've heard of that," opined the worldly Principal. "But I don't really know what they are."

"Tapas is a way of serving dinner," explained Stan. "Instead of an appetizer, entree, and dessert, what you get instead is a whole bunch of small plates. It's like a meal of appetizers. That way we can serve you a nine-course meal without you getting too full."

"You're gonna give us a nine-course meal?" repeated the Mayor, unbelieving.

"That's exactly right. Jemima has been working hard all day to make this for you. I hope you're hungry, and I hope you enjoy the food.

"But the purpose of this game is not just to eat, but also to play a sex game with the servers. It is important that you follow the rules -- games are always more fun when you do. We will be attended by four hostesses hired especially for your pleasure. With each course you will be permitted to take certain liberties with them -- and also they with you. At the end of the evening you and your hostess have a private room, where you may behave as you wish with no rules.

"Are you ready for the game?"

"Bring it on," said the Chief. The others nodded.

"So the first step is to assign lots. That will determine which girl you get at the end of the evening. Don't worry -- you'll get to play with all of them at some point. And you can trade girls with each other if you want later. But this gets us started."

They used a deck of cards to assign the girls. The Chief got the first girl, the Principal the second, Stan came in third, while the Mayor brought up the rear.

"And one more general rule. Since we'll be touching people in very personal places, it's important that we wash our hands before every course. There is a sink in the corner, so let's do that now."

A large cloth covered the table, broad enough to hide any indiscretions that might occur underneath. Stan and the Chief sat at opposite ends of the long table. The Mayor and the Principal sat opposite each other in the middle. They were too far apart for comfortable conversation, but then that wasn't the point.

"The first course is entitled Look But Don't Touch," Stan said. "You will be introduced to the hostess that corresponds to your number -- the one you will own for tonight. For this course you are not allowed to touch her. But you can talk to her, and we can talk about her. We will bring them in one at a time.

"Marsha, please ask Miss BBW to come in."

"Jamie!" said the Principal. "I'm surprised to see you here."

Jamie, aka 'Miss BBW' carried her dish to the Chief. "Sir, my name is Miss BBW. Here is your first course. It is a shrimp cocktail. I will move my tail for you." She turned around and wiggled her butt at him.

"I thought you were graduating in the May?" exclaimed the Principal. "I hope you haven't changed your mind?"

"I still plan on graduating, Sir. But I need some extra money."

"Are you old enough to be here?" asked the Chief.

"I turned 18 last month, Sir. So the answer is yes."

The Mayor questioned Marsha. "Do you think having Jamie here is a good idea?"

Whatever Marsha may have thought, she'd lose a lot of money if Miss BBW backed out now. "We need the money. And Jamie will be the first person in our family to ever graduate from high school."

"Not that it'll do her much good," muttered the Principal, under his breath.

"So let's avoid calling people by their names," Stan intoned. "This young lady is Miss BBW. That stands for Big, Beautiful Woman."

Short and plump described her better than big, though she'd be as fat as her mother in a few years. Also, while cute, beautiful didn't fit. Her face was plain, with an acne-scarred complexion. But now she radiated youth, and came with big tits and a big smile. She'd dressed in a modest skirt with a blouse buttoned to the collar, and pumps sporting two-inch heels. That, some cheap jewelry and too much makeup made her look sexy as hell.

"Marsha, please show in Miss Meth."

This time the Mayor couldn't control his surprise. "Diane! What is this, Marsha? Are you pimping out both your daughters?"

"They're not prostitutes. They jes havin' fun at yer party," said Marsha, indignantly.

The girl marched over to the Principal. "Sir, my name is Miss Meth. Here is your first course. It is a shrimp cocktail. And I will move my tail for you, Sir." She faced away and shook her bottom.

"So these girls don't have the same dad? Who's Jamie's dad?" asked the Principal.

"Al Dodd," answered Marsha, miffed.

"And who's Diane's dad -- er, I mean Miss Meth's dad?"

"Joe Ferguson," Marsha said softly, looking down.

"Must run in the family," opined the Mayor.

"So who gave you the Miss Meth moniker?" asked Chief. "It sure does fit." She probably spent one night a week in jail.

"Mr. Stan did, Sir." True to the name, she'd already lost one of her front teeth. And she was skinny -- too skinny to be pretty. But barely 23 years old, possessed of a cute butt and nice hair, it'd be fun to sex her up.

Miss Meth was the only woman in the lineup to wear pants -- tight-fitting jeans topped with a t-shirt.

"Marsha, please show in Miss MILF."

Miss MILF took her place next to Stan. "Hello, Sir. My name is Miss MILF. Here is your first course. It is a shrimp cocktail. I'm here to move my tail for you, Sir." She, too, did the little butt dance.

"Hey, I know you!" said Chief. "You're the waitress over at the Diner. I get breakfast and coffee there a couple times a week."

"Yes, Sir. I remember you. Though you're usually wearing your uniform there."

Miss MILF wore her waitress attire from the Diner -- a simple, white dress, tailored at the waist with the hem at the knees. White tennies, a gold necklace, and some earrings completed the outfit. It charmed.

"Your name's Terri -- isn't it?" She nodded, embarrassed. "Yeah, I remember from your nametag. I've often thought how much I'd like to screw you. Didn't think I'd get the chance. But I didn't know you had a kid. Who's the lucky dad?"

"Stevie Jones. He's a loser, but my little boy is the light of my life. I'm doing this for him."

"I'm sure he'll appreciate that," remarked the Principal, sarcastically.

"And last but not least, Marsha, could you please show in Miss College Girl."

A petite blond, stacked and with curves in the right places, walked in, delivering a plate to the Principal.

"My name is Miss College Girl, Sir. Here is your first course. It is a shrimp cocktail. And I'm going to move my tail for you." She did the bunny hop.

"Erin! I thought you were in college. What are you doing back in this podunk little hole?" asked the Principal.

"I am in college, Sir. But my mother told me about this opportunity, and I do need some money. I'm not going to make a career of it.

"Erin is among the few who actually graduated from high school and left this place. I didn't think I'd see her again. I gotta say, I'm surprised.

"What are you majoring in?"

"Communications, Sir. I want to get into sales."

"Well, you're off to a good start," offered the Mayor, eyeing her lasciviously.

The hostesses took seats next to their new masters, who finished their food.

"Marsha," called Stan. "Please have the hostesses clear the table and prepare for the second course."

Stan waited for them to leave the room. "Now gents, after you've washed your hands, instead of sitting, please stand behind your seats.

"The second course is entitled Affectionate Touch.

"Tapas is a Spanish custom, and usually includes Spanish food. That's mostly what we'll be serving today. When you greet a young lady, the Latin custom is to embrace her gently and kiss her on both cheeks. So that's what you'll be doing. Give her a light hug -- no full-body contact -- and then kiss her gently on both cheeks. Please let her initiate the hug.

"The girls will walk around the room and greet each of you individually. As long as you're discreet, you can pat her on the butt as she walks away.

"After the greeting a girl will sit next to you while you eat. You may touch her affectionately, but not intimately. You may stroke her hair and hold her hand. You may kiss or touch her cheeks. You may put your arm around her shoulders. She will show similar affection toward you. Please be a gentleman."

The gents rose to wash their hands, and then stood in their assigned places.

Marsha announced: "The hostesses will bring you paella, a Spanish rice dish. We hope you enjoy.

Miss BBW took her dish to the Mayor, and put it down on his plate. "I am very happy to meet you, Sir. My name is Miss BBW. I will do my best to make you happy." She put her arms around his shoulders and offered her cheek for a kiss. Mr. Mayor embraced her waist, holding her a tad closer than was civil, and smooched her cheeks. They disentangled.

The other girls did the same. Miss Meth was assigned to Stan. "I am very happy to meet you, Sir. My name is Miss Meth. I will do my best to make you happy." Stan kissed her cheeks. Her hair smelled of cigarettes. Her breath reeked of rotting teeth. What a skank, he thought, regretting that he'd hired her.

Miss MILF introduced herself to the Principal, and Miss College Girl offered courtesies to the Chief.

The girls then circled the room, personally introducing themselves to each of the guests. Stan enjoyed the greeting from Miss BBW. He could feel her tits against his chest. Miss MILF was his favorite. He got a hard-on just looking at her. Miss College Girl was the prettiest of the bunch, but also the most modest. The hug yielded no body contact whatsoever.

But like all the other girls, she got a good parting pat as she walked away.

Miss College Girl sat next to Chief, who clearly thought himself lucky. His hand rested against the nape of her neck, with fingers combing her hair. He ate with his other hand, occasionally feeding her a bite. She had her hand on his knee, gently stroking it. He leaned over to give her another peck on the cheek.

"Marsha, please have the servers clear the dishes and prepare for the third course." The girls hopped to, and in a few minutes the table was cleaned and reset with fresh silverware. The men washed their hands.

"The third course is entitled Getting Grabby. This time, when you greet your server you can give her a full body-contact hug -- cock to cunt as it were. Make sure she knows you're alive. And while she's sitting next to her you can touch her anywhere you want.

"But -- and here are the rules -- your hands have to stay outside her clothes. You can't unbutton anything, nor can you move any clothing out of the way. And she won't spread her legs for you, either. You can kiss her, but keep your tongue to yourself.

"This course is twenty minutes long. After ten minutes the girls will change places, so you'll have a chance to get grabby with another server.

"Marsha, please ask the servers to bring in the third course."

Miss Meth led the way. "The third course is Spanish meatballs, served on a bed of paella rice."

She walked over to the Mayor. "Hello, Sir. My name is Miss Meth. The meatballs are hot and spicy. I am also hot and spicy. Please enjoy, Sir."

The Mayor hugged her closely, his hands pushing her butt toward his cock. He didn't kiss her. I don't blame him, thought Stan.

Miss BBW put the food down at Stan's place. "Hello," she curtsied. "My name is Miss BBW. The meatballs are hot and spicy. I am also hot and spicy. Please enjoy, Sir."

Stan ground his cock hard against her. He did kiss her -- the tobacco odor hidden by cheap perfume. She tasted good. His hand reached for those big tits and started massaging.

Her lipstick was all smudged when she sat down. Stan wiped his mouth clean with a napkin. His hand rested on her thighs as he ate his food, sharing a couple of bites with her.

Chief looked happy with Miss MILF. How could he not be? He threw his arm around her, resting his hand on her breast.

Marsha kept time. After ten minutes she rang a little bell and everybody stood up. The girls marched one place around the table. Miss College Girl succumbed to Stan's embrace.

There was no room for modesty now. He pushed his hard-on as far into her as he could, while smashing his lips against hers. She wore a long skirt down to mid calf, but he supposed she had beautiful thighs. He explored them from knee to crotch -- as best he could while obeying the rules -- all the while squeezing her tits.

Stan kissed her again as Marsha rung the bell a second time. "Marsha, please have the servers clear the tables in preparation for the fourth course."

The men washed up while the ladies cleared and reset the table. When the were alone again, Stan gave instructions.

"The fourth course is entitled Losing It. Each hostess will lose an article of clothing. It is your choice what it is -- any one piece of attire you want. We will go around the table, defrocking each one in turn. When it's your turn, please explain why you chose that piece of clothing.

"You may touch your woman as needed to take off her clothing. Take your time. Removing her blouse, for example, may require some extended investigation of her bosom. But, apart from what you're removing, your hands have to stay outside of any other clothing.