Date: Mon, 27 Sep 2004 16:01:23 -0700 (PDT)
From: alton free <altonfree@yahoo.com>
Subject: Fun at the Company Picnic

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.