The Bank of Darcy

I go along as her “eye candy.” For the most part, I consider myself an average-looking guy, but every now and then I do see myself differently in the mirror. I do have a certain masculinity that I guess women would find attractive. At least the body is in shape. This isn’t an issue of vanity; it’s an issue of health. There are too many bad molecules promoting diabetes or heart disease swimming in my gene pool.

So here I am in tuxedo – we go to so many of these affairs I actually OWN one – escorting Darcy to an auction for the local mental health association. Normally we would not be invited to such an affair, but Darcy “volunteered” us to help out with some of the setup. She put my computer skills to use by having me develop a program to record the bids and print the invoices for the silent auction. So we were more in the status of “hired help” than invitees.

However, nobody else knew that and Darcy always has a way to play her hand to the fullest. I like to watch her in action in a room of people. She’s like a cheetah or other predatory big cat stalking her prey and planning the best moment and approach for the attack. Few escape her clutches.

In this instance, the prey was Ms. Pomeroy. Ms. Pomeroy was a 50-ish woman who made it a habit of marrying rich, and divorcing even richer. Her current husband, twenty years her junior, is an investment genius. He saw the crash coming and pulled all their assets out of the market taking a short-term loss at 13,000 and buying back in at 7,800. He took the millions they already had and added millions more. He’s the brains behind the company, but Ms. Pomeroy ran it, and as I later discovered, him.

Darcy walked over to her, and before I returned with her drink, was already engaged in animated conversation with her. I was politely introduced, but other than taking the woman’s hand and saying, “Nice to meet you,” was excluded from the conversation.

They exchanged cards, and left with Ms. Pomeroy saying, “Give me a call early next week. I’d like to discuss some of those ideas with you.” I figured Darcy just scored big again.

The rest of the evening was spent wandering around and making small talk with some of the other patrons. We had a bidding card, but didn’t use it. Most of the bidding started well above our bank accounts.

On Monday, I get a call from Darcy at work. “What are your plans for the weekend?” she asked.

“Whatever you want them to be,” I replied in typical devoted fashion.

“Good, we’ve been invited to a pool party at the Pomeroy’s. I’ll fill you in on the details at dinner.”

Details? What details? It’s a pool party. I put on a bathing suit and show up and try to be as charming as Darcy needs me to be.

The conversation at dinner proved otherwise. Darcy explained it to me. “This will be no ordinary pool party. Remember me telling you that there’s this little clique in the WBC that shares the same interest in how women should relate with men?”

The warning flags went up.

“Well, I just recruited Sherri into it. It’s a major coup for my reputation with the rest of the girls.”

She’s now on a first named basis with the richest woman in town. “Sherri?” I said.

“Well, she’ll still be Ms. Pomeroy to you,” Darcy replied.

“Sherri suggested a get together at her house. There will be several women there from our little coven along with their men. These men, like you will provide the cocktail service. Like you, they will do it in the nude, so don’t forget to bring your suntan lotion. We wouldn’t want certain parts of that great body to get burned, would we?”

She looked at my face and laughed. “Don’t worry, you won’t scandalize anyone. All the women there know the story as do their men although I think this will be the first time we’ve ever had a joint function. Anyway, Sherri has staff and they will do most of the preparation. All you’ll need to do is schlep drinks and refreshments and pick up after the ladies.”

Well, at least I was grateful for the warning. I could have found out only when Darcy told me to drop my trunks.

I suppose that the upcoming event was enough to keep Darcy occupied. I received no checks to cash that entire week, although I was constantly looking over my shoulder.

The day arrived and I picked up Darcy at her apartment. I decided to bring along some trunks, just in case. She answered the door in her bikini, and I nearly ignited my underwear as my penis erected so fast it gave me a cloth burn. She was definitely going to cause a lot of erections at the party.

Fortunately for our safe arrival (since I was driving) she threw a sundress over it and finished the outfit with a large floppy hat, sunglasses and sandals. Even then, she was stunning. I’ve seen professional models in her fashion magazines look worse. She pointed to the small suitcase that was masquerading as her bag and said, “Be a dear and get that.”

She gave me directions to Sherri’s – I mean Ms. Pomeroy’s house. We arrived at the gate and pressed the buzzer. A slightly British sounding voice answered, “May I help you?”

“Darcy Prescott to see Ms. Pomeroy.”

There was a slight moment of silence while the detached voice was no doubt checking the guest register. “Very well,” it finally responded, “You’re expected. Please proceed.”

At this, the gate swung back and I drove down the driveway. It was a journey in itself. The driveway must have been at least a quarter mile long. The first half was through a wooded area and it curved gently. This made it impossible to see the house from the road. The second half crossed a neatly manicured lawn interspersed with beds of colorful flowers.

House was the wrong word for the structure. Even mansion isn’t adequate. Villa would probably be more correct. The main building was a huge structure with a circular drive. We proceeded up that where I dropped the car off with the valet.

Once we got inside, we were met by an older woman who seemed to be in charge of the staff. “Darcy Prescott,” Darcy announced.

“Oh yes, Ms. Pomeroy is expecting you. She mentioned you were coming and was delighted at the prospect of seeing you and your escort again. Won’t you come this way?”

Darcy was ushered forward. I was told, “Go with Henry. He’ll show you what to do.”

As I left through a side door with Henry, I looked back through the opening main doors into what appeared to be a large reception room. It was filled with about a dozen women. Dressed waiters circulated among them.

I was taken down a flight of stairs and out the side of the house. I could see a hidden alcove in the trees where the other buildings of the establishment lay. There was another house (servants’ quarters I presume), the garage with its multiple doors, a shed, a lean-to with a tractor and a stable with several horses. I was led to the house.

I was ushered into a room where there were several other men already there in various states of undress. Henry departed with the words, ‘Miss Cynthia will tell you what to do.”

Miss Cynthia might have been in her mid-20’s but looked like a teenager. However, she was in charge of a small army of naked men that ranged up to at least twice her age. I noticed that most of the men were hairless down there (as opposed to neatly trimmed as Darcy prefers I keep myself) and that two of them were wearing a chastity device. One of them had a tattoo on his buttocks proclaiming that he was a bitch to his mistress. Yet another was pierced through the head of his penis. Until I could get used to seeing it, the thought kept my erection at bay.

All she said was, “Get undressed and I’ll help you with your uniform.”

For a moment I was kind of hoping that I would be dressed after all. It was true, I was dressed but quite minimally: I had a white wheel cap with a black leather brim, a stand-alone white collar with a black bow tie, stand-alone white starched cuffs with cuff links, a black cummerbund and white Keds slip-on sneakers. It was sort of like a steward’s outfit without the actual shirt and without pants.

It actually mirrored the uniform Miss Cynthia was wearing except she had a full blouse and white skirt.

Miss Cynthia explained our duties, “You will stay here until madam dismisses the caterers and then you will take over. I will be in charge of your assignments. The food and drink is in the auxiliary kitchen and each of you will be assigned a certain area of the pool as your station. Some of you will be primarily on waitstaff duty, while others will be on cleanup, however each of you will immediately obey any request from any of the women no matter where you are, or what your primary assigned duty is.”

“You will keep your eyes lowered at all times and never look a woman in the face. You will be polite at all times and not speak unless spoken to. Address all women as ma’am. Do I have any questions?”

There were none. I was surprised at how confident Cynthia was with her instructions. Had she done this before, I wondered?

We all sat in silence for a while and then the phone rang. Cynthia said hello and then added, “Very good, ma’am. Yes, the boys are ready. I’ll bring them right over.”

Turning to us, she grinned, “Show time, boys. And some of you have a lot more to show than others. Follow me.”

Cynthia led us along a path and into yet another side entrance leading to a kitchen with a large working area. The counters were full of trays and the trays were full of refreshments. I was assigned to one bearing small sandwiches; the other men were detailed to carry trays with other goodies.

“You know what to do,” Cynthia said, giving us our final instructions, “Just walk up to the ladies. Offer your tray for a couple of seconds and say nothing unless spoken to. She swung open a door that lead to a large glass-arched room. It sort of resembled an aircraft hangar and could probably hold at least a small aircraft other than it was made of glass instead of metal. Most of the glass panels were pulled aside to reveal screening. Fans in the roof provided a pleasant breeze. I was not going to get eaten alive by insects.

The hangar enclosed a flagstone paved courtyard with seating along flowerboxes and even a couple of trees. In the center was the pool maybe about a quarter Olympic size. I was lost in the opulence of it all. It was only after my eyes had absorbed the setting that my brain caught up with the contents.

There were about a dozen women there talking among each other clad in their bathing suits and one man, naked save for knee pads: Mr. Pomeroy. Mr. Pomeroy was currently at Ms. Pomeroy’s feet acting as a footstool as she sat in a chair, chatting away with the woman in the chair next to hers. The two women apparently decided it was time for a dip. The both got up, and placed their discarded drinks and plates on their makeshift table.

From beside me I could hear Cynthia order one of the men she held in reserve, “Boy, go clean up that mess and bring it back here.”

Cynthia stood by the door, watching and supervising us men as we circulated among the women. I smiled as I approached Darcy and a woman she was talking to. Darcy noticed it and said, “Don’t look at me that way, boy! Keep in your place.” I lowered my eyes and just muttered, “Yes, ma’am.”

Cynthia was on the spot immediately. “Is there a problem here?” and then added hopefully, “Do you want me to discipline him?”

“It’s OK, Cynthia. I’ll deal with his recalcitrant behavior when I get home.”

I spent the rest of my time slowly making the rounds, returning to the kitchen only to pick up a new tray. This time the tray contained red and white wine.

“You are on drink duty,” Cynthia informed me. “Offer the women something to drink and take any other orders that they may have. Report these orders to the bartender.” The bartender, of course, was female and wore an outfit like Cynthia’s.

As the women became sated with refreshments, wine, drink and other delicacies, Cynthia pulled some of us out of rotation and put us in the kitchen to clean up and consolidate the scraps of food left over. Most of it was cold or warm, as compared to its original condition. We men ate it in shifts.

We were all brought out to stand in a line as Mrs. Pomeroy, gathered the women in front of us. “Girls, remember how at sleepovers we used to talk about boys and the silly things they did or we got them to do? Well now it’s time to actually play ‘show and tell.’ Each of you has brought along a companion who you say has a special talent. Well, now it’s time for a talent show. Ellen, why don’t you go first.”

Ellen wiggled her finger and a man fell out of line. “Up here,” she said patting an empty table with a recliner cushion on it. “On your back.” The man complied silently. You know what to do.

The man rolled his back and threw his legs over his head. I couldn’t believe that anyone could be that flexible, or at least I’ve never seen it done in person. His erected penis was a fraction of an inch away from his face. He stuck his tongue out and flicked it. Women went scurrying for their purses to retrieve their phones to take pictures.

He folded himself even tighter and took the head into his mouth. I could see his cheeks working as he sucked himself off. I could tell by his stiffening, breathing and grunts that he was cumming. Moments later a small bit of cum dribbled from his mouth. The woman commented, “Aw baby, that was almost perfect.” The rest of the women applauded. Some of us men did too.

Ms. Pomeroy announced, “Thank you, Ellen, that was a great show. It’s literally going to be a tough act to follow. Who’s next?”

The women had their men perform various acts from simple jerk offs, to feats of acrobatics, to performing silly acts. One of these acts featured two men doing what two male lovers were supposed to do, I guess. I wondered what Ms. Darcy had in store for me.

It was very tame. “My boy will be giving a demonstration on how to give a massage. Do I have any volunteers to be on the receiving end?” A couple of hands went up. Darcy pointed to Clair and she laid down on her stomach on the cushioned table previously used by the self-felating slave.

Darcy nodded to me. I knew that meant “start.” I started at her feet and pulled her leg to a 90 degree angle to work on her feet and calf muscles. I contemplated whether I was to kiss and lick them as I normally did with Darcy. I thought better of it and decided not to.

Darcy made a running commentary on what I was doing: partly describing my actions and partly directing them. “Notice how he runs his fingers up the striations of the muscles in a direction towards the heart. He varies the pressure gradually decreasing it and then letting it tail off again …”

I did the complete massage from toes to neck and my audience thought I was done. I knew better. Darcy knew it was time to bring out the secret weapon. “Cindy, be a darling. In my bag is a can of racquetballs. Would you fetch two for us?”

Cindy found the balls and bounced them to Darcy who handed them to me. “The balls,” she explained, “spread the pressure over the muscles evenly. Watch how he uses his hands to manipulate them rolling them along her flesh.”

At this point Clair sighed, “Oh, this feels really great. I’ve never felt anything like it. It feels like my skin is coming alive again.”

Darcy interjected, “That’s the rubber. Not only does it grab and tickle, but the texture of the balls also scrub off the dead skin.”

The women pressed in for a closer view. Darcy continued her commentary, “My boy also does my front, but in the interest of Clair’s modesty, particularly in the presence of these other males, we will not demonstrate that now. However, I must say that the balls feel really good when gently rubbed against my breasts, and in skilled hands can do things with a clitoris that a penis, fingers or even a talented tongue could never do.”

At this point one of the women asked, “Do you ever do him? I mean rub the ball against his penis like he rubs it against your clit?”

“I’ve never thought about it,” Darcy admitted.

Another woman spoke out, “My hubby is into rubber. He’s practically a slave to it. I got to try it with him.”

The women were hooked on every word as Darcy continued to explain the intricacies of a rubber-ball massage.

She finished up her speech, “and that gray stuff on the ball is her skin. Exfoliated gently by the texture of the rubber of the balls. And they are so easy to wash up. Do I have any questions?”

There were some questions, and there were several requests, “I wish my boy knew how to do that.” “I would love to have a massage like that.”

Darcy’s response was, “Cindy, in my bag you’ll find a checkbook in a pink leather cover. Could you bring it to me along with a pen?”