Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Not all corporate hotties are looking for a good time. If you are offended by homosexual situations or homosexuality in general, loosen up. Failing that, stop reading and go do something else. If you are underage or it is illegal for you to be reading this where you're at, grow up and/or move. Also, stop reading.
Feedback and/or criticism cheerfully accepted at altonfree@yahoo.com. Please put "Picnic" in the subject line so it isn't automatically deleted. Enjoy!
Fun at the Company Picnic
By Alton Free
It was that time of year again. Every September, the company dragged our asses down to Jersey, mid-way between the home office and our finance headquarters in Philadelphia, for some mandatory "fun and relaxation". I don't know too many people who find it fun and relaxing to hang out with their co-workers playing stupid "ice-breakers" and participating in "team-building exercises", and I wasn't one either. However, no one ever asked me if I wanted to go; they just hired buses, herded us on board, and drove us down. The best thing that could be said about it was it got us out of the office for a day. Of course, we'd have to scramble like mad the following week to get done all the work that would pile up, but that's the price you pay for "fun".
We arrived at the park around 9:30, and immediately were each handed a penny to start the icebreaker. We'd use this to find our groups: each group member had a penny with the same year on it, but we weren't allowed to show it to anyone, or ask anyone what year they had. We had to walk through the crowd and ask each other questions like, "Was Carter president during your year?", trying to find the group with the year that corresponded to our penny. This was the company's idea of "mingling".
Bored out of my mind, I began circulating, asking other bored people historical questions, when suddenly I saw him. He was hard to miss: our company's not known for our looks, and this guy was definitely the hottest one there. That's not saying much, but he would have drawn stares anywhere: a tall, well-muscled Italian stud, probably mid-to-late 20's, about 6'2", and, I'm guessing, around 210lbs. His jet-black hair was cut close, with one of those flip deals in the front. He had deep green eyes behind a pair of Joe College glasses, and chiseled features, tanned a deep brown from lots of time outdoors. A blue t-shirt for some extreme sports shop covered a pair of incredibly broad shoulders and a thick chest, tapering down to a trim waist. His cargo shorts were filled out nicely in the front, and, as I watched him turn around to answer a question, amazingly well in the rear. They stopped at his knees, allowing full exposure of his large, cut calves.
I was practically drooling as I watched this stud from across the pavilion. He must work at the home office, because I'd SURELY have noticed him if he were in our building, and he must be a fairly new hire, because I would have remembered seeing him last year. In any case, there he was, and I meant to get to know him as well as I could in the suddenly short amount of time this picnic would last.
I started to make my way over to him, but was intercepted by one of those loud, happy HR-types who think icebreakers are the greatest social activity in the world. I'd had lots of run-ins with this chick before; she was really into me, and never could seem to get the message that I didn't feel the same way. Really bugs me. I mean, I could see why she was interested: not to toot my own horn, but I'm definitely the office stud: 6', 190 lbs and extremely well put together, with a hard, muscular body that would put anyone in the room (except maybe the new hottie) to shame. My face wasn't hard on the eyes either. But how many times do you have to blow off a girl before she takes a hint?
Anyway, she immediately started asking me questions, while my eyes followed that blue t-shirt around the open room. Unfortunately, it turned out that she had the same year I did: we were both 1985. 1985 immediately became the worst year of my life. Knowing I'd never get rid of her now, I suggested that we make our way around the pavilion to try and round up some others, all the while watching my walking wet dream move further and further away. Before I could make a move, someone else had joined us, and then another, and, just like that, our group was complete.
I watched, crushed, as the stud settled in with his group, about as far away as we could get and still be under the same roof. As we took our seats on long wooden benches to start the first of our excruciating team-builders, I vowed to corner him at some point before the end of the day.
The morning droned on and on, as we performed one lame activity after another. I stole as many glances at the stud as I could without being too obvious. He appeared completely immersed in what he was doing. "Damn, I just wish he'd look my way once!" I thought.
Finally, the team-builders were over, and it was time for lunch. We made our way to the line and picked up paper plates, on which we could put hamburgers or hot dogs. However, there was only one thing on the menu that I wanted. His group was closer to where the food was set up then mine, so by the time I got to the line, he was already a good 30 people ahead of me. And by the time I got my grub, he'd already sat back down at a full table. No joy for me at lunch. As I was getting some tepid, slightly congealed baked beans dumped on my plate, I bitterly watched him chatting with the second-hottest guy from the home office (he was my crush at the picnic LAST year...a tall, blue-eyed piece of man candy named Dave. I'd actually talked to that one; great to look at, but sadly straight).
Disgruntled, I made my way back to the '85's and sat down. I tuned out the HR chick trying her level best to flirt with me, nodding and uh-huhing in the right places by reflex, while I surreptitiously watched the hottie eat. After about half-an-hour, people began tossing their trash and wandering around the pavilion chatting. I waited until Sexy got up, then stood up myself and went to toss my plate. Time to meet my fantasy. Just then, the HR chick caught my arm and reminded me it was time for the softball game. Shit...I forgot. I'd agreed to play.
Every year we have a Home vs. Finance game. This is taken EXTREMELY seriously by both sides. The winning team gets nothing but bragging rights, but you'd think a week's paid vacation was at stake by the level of competitiveness everyone exhibited. Our Finance team gets regularly trounced every year; Home has more men than we do, and they're usually in better condition. I'm the most athletic guy in Finance (again, not saying much, but I AM in great shape), so there was no way they weren't going to let me play.
I actually enjoy softball, but I prefer it with a group of friends and beer involved. Playing in a corporate setting really takes the fun out it. However, I DO have a competitive streak, and even if I really didn't care all that much about the Glory of Finance, I still wanted to win. I got my glove from the bag, and trotted out to the field.
Lo and behold, stud-boy was playing, too. He probably had about as much choice in the matter as I did, but he seemed happy enough to participate. Unfortunately, he was on the other team, so I wouldn't have a chance to corner him in the dugout and make small talk, let alone jam my tongue down his throat.
We were up to bat first. They'd placed the hottie out in left field, which turned out to be a good move, since the few balls we managed to get out of the infield always ended up in his glove. Man, that guy could move. I sure wished I was in the outfield with him so I could watch those glutes bouncing up and down while he raced after the ball. My view from our dugout didn't offer me much in the way of stimulation.
We went 0 for 3 on our first at-bat; I didn't even get up. As I trotted out to my spot in the infield, Studly breezed past me without a second look. That's okay; I did the looking for both of us. He'd started to work up a good sweat, which made that tight shirt cling enticingly to his muscular chest. As he went past, I spun around to watch the rear view I'd been denied while he was in the outfield. Christ, I could have stared at that butt for hours. Unfortunately, the HR chick was playing second base, and I knew how bad she sucked; they'd need me at short stop. So I finished my trot and settled down to play.
We were only playing for two hours, so I resolved to put him out of mind for that time, and focus on the game. It was hard when he got up to bat, though, and hit a scorcher right to me. I was so distracted watching him take off to run that the ball sailed right past me. Actually, it almost clocked me; feeling the breeze as it brushed past my ear broke the spell, and got me back in the game. Our center fielder scooped up the ball as the hottie rounded first, and threw it to me. I snagged it and brought my glove down to fortuitously graze Studly's basket as he slid into second base. A little too late as it turned out: he was safe.
This was fine with me: I would much rather have him standing right next to me, taking a lead off base, than sitting in the dugout waiting for his next at-bat. He stood up, and, brushing the dirt off his magnificent ass, looked over at me and said with a grin, "Close, man!"
"Yeah, I almost had your nuts right in my glove," I thought to myself, and then had to think of something else quick as I started to harden. All I said in return was, "I'll getcha next time."
"We'll see," he shot back, and actually winked.
I'd have loved to trade barbs with him for the rest of the game, but unfortunately, their next batter was the third out, so he made his way back to the outfield, and I made mine back to the dugout.
The rest of the game was fairly uneventful. My three at-bats all ended with the ball in Studly's glove; I think subconsciously I was trying to develop a connection with him the only way I could. He, on the other hand, hit the winning homer, a two-runner that put Home on top 5-2. The other guy who scored on that play was Dave, and I watched jealously as the two of them hugged and patted each other on their bubbled asses. Life sucks sometimes.
However, the good news was that the game was over, and I finally had my chance to rub shoulders (and maybe more) with the object of my lust. I was just starting to make my way over to him when the HR chick got on a microphone and told everyone to head into the pavilion for the afternoon presentations.
Shit! Everyone started stampeding towards the pavilion, and I lost track of him in the crowd. I hoped to spot him again when we got inside and grab a seat near him, but as I crossed the threshold, the HR chick yelled out, "Hey, we're over here!" and motioned me to join the rest of the `85s.
Resigned, I slunk on over and sat down as the first speaker got up to the mic. I glanced around the room for His Hotness, but didn't see him anywhere. He must have been sitting somewhere behind me. Christ, it was going to be a long afternoon without any eye candy. I willed myself to stay awake as the droning began.
An hour and a half later, as my nodding head was just about to hit my chest for the final time, the droning suddenly stopped, and a fifteen minute break was announced. I immediately snapped to. Yes! This was my chance!
I jumped up and scanned the room. No sign of him. I quickly devised a fiendishly clever scheme involving lingering in one of the bathroom stalls til everyone had just about taken their seats, and then unobtrusively taking one as close to him as I could find. I ducked into the loo and settled down to wait.
Figuring I might as well take care of business while I was in there, I unzipped and hauled out my dick. As I stood there pissing, my mind kept wandering to Studly out there on the field, running and leaping and generally looking hot. Before too long, my thick 7-incher was hard as a rock in my hand, and I was slowly stroking it, imagining it was his. Unfortunately, before I could get close, I heard the HR chick on the mic, telling everyone to take their seats. Not wanting to miss the chance to get a seat close to my boy, I tucked myself back in to my thankfully baggy shorts, zipped up, and exited the stall, just in time to see the buns I'd been picturing during my little wank session making their way out of the restroom.
I followed at a distance, and watched as he took a seat all the way in the back of the room. This was better than I'd hoped for. He was practically by himself; the nearest body was 3 benches ahead of him. He glanced around the room, his eyes passing over me without stopping, looked back the other way, then settled down to watch the next speaker step up to the mic.
I waited until the droning began again, and then quietly walked over to where he was sitting. All of sudden, I felt shy as a pre-school girl. I couldn't think of a single thing to say. I couldn't believe it. I'd been waiting all this time to get close to this stud, and now I was too chicken-shit to open my mouth!
More nervous by the minute, I settled for taking a seat on the bench right behind him. As I pulled it up, his head made a slight turn at the noise, but not enough to spot me. I sat down, staring at that beautiful broad back, still damp with the sweat he'd worked up on the field, and wanting nothing more than to reach around and run my hands all up and down his muscular chest.
We sat like that seemingly for hours, him staring at the speaker, me staring at his sweaty blades, when he suddenly placed his right hand on the back of his bench and leaned slightly back. I thought he was just shifting positions, but he stayed locked in that pose. I was puzzled; it wasn't at all a comfortable way to sit. However, I wasn't complaining...he was closer to me than he'd been all day, and I could smell the delightful maleness of him, the combination of sweat and deodorant and the smell that was just him. It all combined to make a strong but not unpleasant scent that I wished someone would bottle and market; I was sure that a few drops of that cologne would work magic the next time I went clubbing.
I was sniffing happily away when he placed his other hand on the back of the bench, and reached behind him with his right to graze my knee, all the while still apparently absorbed in the droning on the stage. I was stunned. What the fuck was going on here? I was wondering to myself if it was accidental, when he did it again, lingering a bit longer this time.
Well, I might not know what to say to a hot stranger when he's sitting quietly in front of me, but I damn sure know what to do when a hot stranger starts making body contact. I reached up and ran a finger slowly down his right shoulder blade. A slight shudder ran through him as he suddenly grasped my knee, then slid his hand partly up my thigh.
I reached up with both hands and started to gently knead his back, careful not to bring my hands into the view of anyone who might look back. He was equally cautious as he began to stroke my thigh, his hand moving closer to my package with each sweep. Brazenly, I leaned forward and licked the back of his neck, tasting his sweat; another shudder went through him as he clamped down on my thigh and began to gently squeeze.
Just then, the droning stopped, and people began to move around the room. I quickly leaned back as he quickly leaned forward, moving his hand back to the bench. Suddenly, it began to get darker; the people in motion were lowering black screens between the pavilion supports. The guy at the mic announced that we'd be watching a 20-minute film on the history of the company.
20 minutes! Thank you, Jesus! 20 minutes in the semi-dark with a hot, willing, Italian god! I should have played the lottery today!
The last of the screens dropped, and the room got quiet. The projector started up, and filmed droning replaced the live droning as the movie began. The pavilion was quite dark; it was a cloudy day, and the screens were doing a marvelous job.
Not wasting a minute, I reached both hands up under his arms and around his chest, running them over his firm pecs and down to his rock-solid abs as I'd only dreamed of doing scant minutes before. He shuddered yet again, and, still not turning to face me, reached behind him and placed a hand on each of my knees.
My face was suddenly supporting his back, and I began to kiss and lick him through his shirt as I massaged his chest. His breathing sped up, but he was being careful not to get too loud as he tightened his grip on my knees. I ran my hands down his belly and grazed the waistband of his shorts, then slid my right hand over them down to his package. My questing fingers quickly found his shaft; he was hard as granite, thick and long. I continued to nibble at his back while I stroked him slowly, tracing the outline of his dick through his shorts.
Teasing him, I removed my hand from his dick and ran it back up to his pecs, cupping them with my hands and gently tweaking his suddenly perky nipples. He let out a soft gasp that only I could hear, and the grip on my knees shook slightly.
Again my hands slid down his torso, this time halting at the bottom of his shirt. I burrowed under the material to his skin; the first touch of his abs sent an electric tingle through my fingertips as I traced each square. Leaving my right hand pressed against his stomach, I moved my left once again up his slightly furry torso, this time under his shirt, skin to skin. I ran a fingernail across his nipples as I removed my right hand from inside his shirt, and again slid it down over his straining cock, rubbing it through his shorts.
In his position, he couldn't quite reach my own hard dick, although he had begun to stroke my thighs again. No problem; I was having a ball with this stud's hard body, and felt completely in control. Insane with desire, I decided to up the ante.
I slid my left hand down and brought my right one up til I was grasping the bottom of his shirt with both paws, then began to slide it up. At this, his hands suddenly left my legs and reached up to gently grasp my wrists, trying to prevent them from moving higher. I was insistent, though, and kept up the pressure until he finally relented, too caught up in the moment to resist.
I slid his shirt slowly up his slick back and chest, then eased the neck hole over his head. He brought his arms down to help me slide it completely off. And there he was, naked from the waist up in a room full of coworkers. I was amazed that he'd let me go so far, but reaching around for his dick again, I found it harder and longer than ever. He was as turned on by the danger as I was...maybe more. I planned to find out just how turned on he could get.
My eyes had grown accustomed to the dimness of the room, and I could easily see the hard-muscled back in front of me tense as I popped the button on his shorts. I heard a sharp intake of breath as I slowly unzipped him.
Free of its khaki prison, his thick rod popped up, still encased in cotton. I could tell from glancing at the label revealed by the widening gap at the back of his shorts that they were grey CKs, briefs or boxerbriefs. I ran my hand along the big stick that was making such a bulge in them; I heard another soft gasp as I rubbed my thumb along his slit, which was leaking an impressive amount of pre-cum, making his underwear tacky.
He put a hand over mine as I fondled his tool, and started moving it up and down the cotton tube, increasing my rhythm. I had other ideas, however. Moving my hand out from under his, I grabbed his shorts at the side and started to push them down. Again he grabbed my wrist, firmer this time, but I would not be denied. I just kept shoving until he finally gave up, raising his amazing ass a bit to allow me slide his shorts down, then taking hold of them at the knees and slipping them the rest of the way off.
I'd never been so turned on. Here was this gorgeous Italian stud sitting in a crowded room in his boxerbriefs, and it was all my doing. I was dominating this entire scenario, and getting off on it big time. And so was he; when my hand returned to his cock, it seemed to have grown another foot. Definitely longer than mine, although I thought I was a bit thicker. And he was leaking like sieve.
Glancing quickly at my watch, I saw that we had only about 10 minutes left before we could realistically expect our little sex show to remain a private affair...before the lights came up and everyone saw a lot more of my sexy new friend than they'd bargained for. 10 minutes...not much time. But I was tripping on my own power by now, and couldn't have stopped for anything. I had to go for broke.
Grabbing the waistband of his boxerbriefs, I urgently tugged them down. He didn't fight me this time; in fact, he pushed my hands out of the way and quickly shoved his skivvies over his gorgeous ass and down his legs, still facing front. Peering over his shoulder, I could still make out his enormous cock in the dim light from the movie screen; it looked close to 9 inches and about ready to burst. He grabbed my hand and placed it around his swollen shaft, begging silently for release. But again, I had other ideas.
I held his throbbing dick still with my right hand, while I unzipped myself with my left. Fishing around, I hauled out my pulsating woody, which was drooling like mad. I swabbed at the tip with left hand, and stroked the copious pre-cum over my raging rod, getting it nice and shiny in the dim light. With my right, I pushed on his abdomen until he got the message, and scooted a bit backwards on the bench, until I was able to get at his hole.
Using a mixture of both our love juices, I oiled up the fingers on my right hand, and swept two over his rosebud. He shuddered as I lingered at the vortex, then gasped as I snaked one in. Sweat was pouring off him in sheets, and I used that to water my hand some more, and added another finger to my rectal probe. He arched his back and let out a strangled sound; it was obviously a mighty effort on his part not to groan for all he was worth right then. His ass appeared to be trying to devour my fingers, sucking on them hungrily as I moved them in and out, attempting to get him as wet as possible.
It was now or never. I slid my fingers out of his fuck hole, and again pushed on his abs with my right hand, while I positioned my missile with the left. He knew what was coming. He squatted awkwardly off the bench, balancing himself with his hands, and moved back towards me, as I guided him with my hands until he was positioned right over my aching cock.
As I eased him slowly down and his ass made first contact with my rod, he tensed up, sweaty back muscles glistening in stark relief in the semi-dark. However, his hole knew what it wanted, and he began to lower himself, inch by inch, onto my eager dick, until, finally, he was sitting on my lap with my meat inside him to the hilt.
I couldn't do much at this point except enjoy, as he placed a hand on the bench on either side of me, and began to raise and lower his body, fucking himself on my thick love-pump. Christ, he was strong. His steady moaning was getting louder; he was bound to attract some attention soon. Thinking fast, I snagged his underwear with my shoe, flipped it up to my hand with a soccer kick, and stuffed it in his mouth.
The friction of his tight chute was incredible, and I knew I couldn't hold out long. Just as well; we were rapidly running out of time. As he rode my big dick, groaning into his cotton gag, I reached around again and found his pole, slick with pre-cum, and started jacking. I could tell he was close; he was starting to spasm a bit. I sped up the tempo, and suddenly his whole body went rigid as he exploded, his first shot zooming over his shoulder to land splat on my forehead. As his cum dripped down my nose, I felt him shoot six more times, and his asshole clamped shut around my throbbing cock.
That did it for me; I placed my mouth on his shoulder and bit in hard as I fired my spunk deep inside him. I don't think I've ever cum so hard; I felt like I was filling him completely with my jizz. My orgasm seemed to last forever as I held him down firmly on my cock, spurting load after load of cum into his chute. Finally, my big balls were empty, and my dick settled down. Only then did I remove my mouth from his shoulder; I'd given him quite a battle scar, but I didn't think he'd mind.
Knowing we about to be exposed any second, I pushed up on his meaty thighs, indicating that he should rise. He did so, my softening cock released with a barely audible plop as he scooched forward back to his bench. I snatched the underwear from his mouth and used it to wipe his face, where ropey volley of his man-juice had hit, then moved down to sweep his chest and abs, and finally his shrinking dick. He bent forward to pick up his shorts and was sliding them on while I wiped my own face with the newly-designated cum-rag, and zipped up my pants.
He was just struggling back into his shirt when the lights came back up, the projector went off, and the next droner began to make his way to the stage. Made it without a second to spare! I felt like I'd run ten miles as the tension began to leak out of our bodies.
Leaning forward, I kissed him one last time on the back of his neck, as, for the first time during the entire incredible session, he half-turned to me and whispered, "Dave, dude, that was so fucking hot."
I froze with my face still against his back. Dave? Oh, shit.
He was still basking in the after-glow as I pulled away from him, my eyes scanning the crowd in front of us. There, just two benches away, was the aforementioned Dave, who was sitting there glaring directly at me, as he'd apparently been doing for the last half hour or so. In a flash, I realized that it must have been prearranged between the two of them for DAVE to take the spot I'd grabbed instead. Poor bastard. No wonder he was looking at me like I'd just stolen his biggest Christmas present.
I was wondering just what to do about this situation when my newly fucked friend caught sight of Dave sitting off to his right. He bolted straight up on his seat, then whipped his upper body around to face me. The look of shock on his face was priceless; it was all I could do not to burst out laughing. His mouth fell open and he turned beet red, as he turned his head to face Dave, then back to me.
"Sorry, man...I had no idea!" I whispered, as he stared at me, flummoxed. "But thanks for the most incredible 20 minutes of my life," I added.
Still furiously blushing, he closed his mouth, then opened it again as if to say something, but just closed it again. What COULD he say? Finally, he just turned back to the stage, his neck still red, the massive bite I'd given him peeking out a little from behind his shirt.
I looked over at Dave, shrugged sheepishly, and mouthed "Sorry!", but he just glared at me, then also turned to face the stage.
The rest of the afternoon was certainly uncomfortable, but I was still feeling on top of the world from my all-too-brief encounter with my sexy stud. The only sad part was, it didn't seem likely it would ever happen again.
Or would it? As the picnic finally wound down and I was getting ready to board the bus, I glanced over to where the home team was getting ready to board their own vehicle. Dave and Studly were off a bit to the side, having what appeared to be an animated discussion. It appeared that Dave was eventually mollified; Studly had a hand on his shoulder, and Dave was nodding his head with a rueful grin on his face. Just then, they both seemed to feel my eyes on them, and turned to face me. Dave looked me up and down appraisingly, while Studly gave me a rueful smile of his own, then laughed, and blew me a kiss!
I waved at the two of them, then got on the bus. As I settled into my seat, I lovingly ran a hand over my gym bag; nestled inside was the cum-soaked souvenir from the hottest experience of my life. And if I played my cards right, next year's company picnic might just turn out to be twice as much fun!
The End.
Like it? Shower me with kudos at altonfree@yahoo.com. Think it sucks? Let me know at the same address.