Foreword: This is a work of fiction. None of the people in this story are real. None of these events ever happened. This story is nothing more than words that came from my imagination. Any similarity to any real people, places, or events is purely coincidental.
NOTE: This is to be an on-going series about a divorced self-help group's parties and picnics (like a TV soap opera). Hense, the stories must be read in sequence to make sense, but there may, or may not, be a definite final chapter.
Operators of erotic story web sites, whether free or fee-based, have my permission to post my stories for public reading, provided that credit is given to "Hungry Guy" (email@example.com or firstname.lastname@example.org) as the author, and as long as you don't make changes other than fixing typos. Even beware of fixing typos, for I occasionally use local slang and dialects that may be flagged by your spell checker. Thanks.
Ken joined Divorced Self Help about a year ago in the midst of his breakup. He had only recently started to join in the social activities that the group puts on the social calendar each month. Bowling, Miniature Golf, and game-nights at members' homes were common, but the two holiday picnics each year drew just about everyone.
Last year, he had been to DiSH's Labor Day picnic and had a pretty good time, but he was still too withdrawn to participate in the slightly amorous party games that Amy liked to organize. He stood idly by and watched the group play musical chairs (where men kneel and use their legs as the chairs for the women players), the three-legged races, the egg pass (where you lined up man-woman-man-woman, and had to pass an egg from one end of the line to the other using just your chin without touching the egg), and others.
A couple of hours into the picnic, and nearly the whole group were there -- about 60 strong and roughly evenly divided between men and women. The group contained all types of people. Most people were dressed comfortably in jeans and loose shirts or tops. There were a few people wearing shorts, men mostly, but it wasn't brutally hot just yet. Of course, there was Jenna, in low-rider shorts cut-off so high that you could see the bottoms of her ass-cheeks handing out, and her shirt rolled up tightly and tied in a knot between her boobs. Oh man, he got a hard-on every time she crossed his field of view. He knew that most of the men didn't stand a chance with her; in the year that he had been attending DiSH, she had never spoken to him. She probably never even noticed him at the group meetings.
Forgetting Jenna, he grabbed a burger and started munching when Amy called everyone over to the games. She announced the two-legged race for two people per team. Ken watched in amusement as the couples raced, bound left ankle to left ankle and right ankle to right ankle, from the trash bin around the big oak tree over to the backstop past the restrooms and back to the starting point. Most couples fell down at least once, with the woman landing flat on her face with her partner landing on top of her with an "Ooof!" It was even more comical watching them struggle to stand again.
Brenda walked up to Ken and said, "Amy's contests get more risqué each year."
"Yeah, she outdoes herself each year..."
Amy called out, "Everyone! Now it's time for the balloon toss."
"Why don't you play?" Brenda asked.
"Oh, I don't know. How about you?"
"I will if you will. Go on!"
"Well, okay," he answered.
"Let me just refresh my Coke, I'll be right over." Brenda walked away toward the coolers and Ken walked over to the group of people mingling around Amy.
Amy had lain a bunch of beach towels in a circle on the ground and had started describing the next game as people walked up, "For the balloon toss, I want all the men to lay on their backs in a circle with their feet facing the middle. Yeah, on those towels."
About twenty men, including Ken, obediently lay on the towels. A few declined to participate and stood to watch.
"Guys," Amy continued, "you must keep your hands behind your back at all times." She handed each man one of those Chinese finger traps. "You don't have to use these, but you can use these to make sure that you don't accidentally lose by moving your hands out from under your backs."
Ken put the tube onto one thumb, then the other behind his back, and then lay back down. Testing the trap, he found that he couldn't pull his thumbs apart or even remove the trap with deft free fingers.
"Now for the fun part," Amy continued. "Women, pick a man and sit on his face facing the center. Take your shoes off and put your legs on his body. Your feet can't touch the ground."
Ken thought to himself, Is she serious? This is the kind of event they would hold at a munch, not a divorced group's picnic!
"Go ahead, take your seats!" she urged.
Ken was almost relieved that only about ten women chose to play, and none took a seat on his face. The unused guys started getting up to leave and he was about to sit up and ask Amy to remove the finger trap so he could go grab another burger when he noticed Jenna walk over to the circle.
"Playing, Jenna?" Amy asked while standing in the middle of the circle.
"Yeah," Jenna answered.
Before Ken could move, Jenna had walked up to him, stepped over his chest, and sat. The image of those tight ass-cheeks remained on his retinas for several seconds after he was plunged into darkness. His skull suddenly felt like a padded anvil was crushing it.
He heard Amy say, "Put your legs up on him." Then he felt her kick her shoes off and rest her legs on his chest placing her heels in his crotch. He, of course, got a huge erection. He knew that Jenna knew it too, for she started milking his cock with her heels. Stop, Jenna, he thought silently. Don't make me cum in my pants!
As he started coming in his pants, Ken suddenly realized that his lungs were screaming for air. He couldn't breathe! His nose and mouth were covered by about 100 pounds of sexpot, and he couldn't make a sound or wave his arms. Ken panicked to himself, Didn't Amy ever hear of a safe-word or -gesture? Fortunately, as if on cue, Amy announced, "Ladies, please let your seats take a breath every so often. We don't want any ambulances here!"
Jenna leaned back, lifting her crotch off his mouth slightly, and Ken gasped in a breath of cool refreshing air.
He heard Amy's voice once again. "The contest is simple. I'm going to throw this water balloon at someone. You have to catch it without it breaking and throw it at someone else. If you get wet, you're out and I'll throw another balloon into the ring. But here's the best part; the winners get a free dinner for two at Le M'cher Et Avaler."
"Ohhh!" all the women crooned in unison, "That French restaurant is so expensive!"
"You have to wait weeks for a reservation!"
"Okay everyone," Amy declared, "Get ready! Catch!"
Jenna let him take another breath, then he heard someone catch the balloon and toss it to someone else. A moment later, Jenna bounced on him as she caught the balloon and then she squirmed as she tossed it to someone else. Then he heard a sploosh!
"You're out Cindy!" the women all yelled.
"Here's another balloon!" Amy called out and Ken felt Jenna bounce on his face again as she caught it and tossed it.
A few moments later, he heard another sploosh as Amy called out, "You're out Judy!"
"Here, Catch!" Amy called again. A few moments later, Jenna caught the balloon yet again and tossed it away. However, in the excitement of the game Jenna seemed to have forgotten to let him breathe, and his lungs were screaming for air again.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, he felt Jenna bounce on him, heard the balloon splatter, and felt water trickle onto his face from between Jenna's legs.
"You're out, Jenna!" Amy announced.
Jenna stood off Ken's face muttering, "Oh shit! I'm soaked!" Standing, straddling his body, she added, "And it's all your fault!" pointing down at him, before stomping away.
Amy threw another balloon at one of the few remaining women as he sat up struggling to release his thumbs from the paper trap. Amy walked over, kneeled behind him, and slid the trap off his thumbs. "That was fun, wasn't it, Ken?" she whispered in his ear.
"Yeah, it was," he whispered back.
His crotch was sticky from where he came in his pants, but he stood and walked over to the grill and grabbed a frankfurter. He was actually glad that Jenna wasn't standing nearby. He decided to do his damnedest to avoid her the rest of the day -- not that he really needed to make the effort, himself.
He bit into the dog when Brenda tapped him on the shoulder saying, "I thought I was going to be your partner!" then walked away in a huff before he could chew and swallow his bite of hotdog.
Disheartened by Brenda's remark, as he would rather have been sat on by Brenda since he rather liked her, he walked off by himself to finish his dog. He walked across the grove away from the activity and came to a trail into the woods. A rustic wooden sign designated the two branching trails as Woodrow Wilson Trail and John Stuart Mill Trail. Beneath the trail names was a map of the network of trails through the woods.
Then he reconsidered; it would be petty to just wander away from the fun because of a silly misunderstanding. He spun around and suddenly stepped back from the shock of finding himself standing face-to-face with Jenna.
"H... hi! J... Jenna! W... What's up?"
"Going for a walk?" she asked nonchalantly.
"Yeah, I was," he answered.
"So which way?" she asked, pointing back-and-forth at the two possible trails.
Unsure that her intent was to go for a trail walk alone with him, he answered slowly, "Doesn't matter to me, which way do you want to go?"