The Picnic Ch. 01

Jelena went reluctantly to the cookout. She had been invited by her boss, Mr. Elman, who she knew was a bit of a pig. She knew that she shouldn't have come. But it was a Saturday and the guy she had slept with last weekend had stood her up last night. So she came anyway, because she wanted to be around people, and now she had gotten herself into a little bit of a situation with multiple men, most of whom she didn't know. One of Mr. Elman's friends had spilled red wine on her dress and she had submitted to Mr. Elman's insistence that she change into one of his daughter's old dresses—which turned out to be much too small and thin and revealing—and stay a little longer, rather than doing what she knew she should have done and gone home right then and there. Mr. Elman had, of course, promised to have her dress dry-cleaned. The dress, it should be pointed out, while loose-fitting, was also much too low cut in the bust, and much too short.

She should have gone home. She went over the reasons in her head.

1. The men there were hitting on her relentlessly. It made her feel good, especially after being stood up the night before. But she knew what this was. They just wanted to fuck her. Men had been making lewd comments and taking every opportunity to brush up against her and pat her on her butt, which they never failed to compliment. One guy had even grabbed her thong through her dress and given her a wedgie, which both hurt and embarrassed her, especially because everyone saw him do it and they all laughed at her.

2. She was getting a little drunk and possibly less able to make rational decisions. They weren't helping things by keeping her glass of wine constantly full. Besides, she wasn't very good at saying "no" in the first place.

3. She hadn't worn a bra with her other dress, which was outfitted with a supportive top. This dress, again being a low-cut, thin, cotton number, left little to the imagination.

But she didn't want to make a scene, so here she found herself, sitting in her boss's backyard in one of those low-to-the-ground fold out lawn chairs in a dress that was not only too small for her, but that was so skimpy she could hardly keep herself covered in it, whether standing up or sitting down.

There were only about a dozen people there, mostly older men, a few she had seen in the office visiting Mr. Elman. They always ogled her suggestively in the office and gave her the creeps. There was only one man there who appeared to be her age or younger. He had been introduced to her as Mr. Elman's nephew, Mark. He had tried to start a conversation with her earlier. Even though he was a little awkward, he seemed nice. She did not see him now. As she looked around, she tried to keep her knees pressed together, because a few men sat directly across from her, staring at her legs, just waiting for her to move and give them a glimpse of her panties. "What a couple of disgusting pigs," she thought to herself. The hem of her loaner dress was just long enough to cover her ass, and so tight that if she moved at all it just rode up higher. And she couldn't sit still. She tried not to move, but the lawn chair was only inches off the ground, and wasn't very comfortable to sit in. If she straightened her legs the men could see her panties above and between her legs. If she lifted her knees, they could see her panties from underneath, and every time she moved the hem just inched up higher and higher, leaving her more exposed. To make matters worse, these men were not trying to hide the fact that they were looking; they smiled and looked right at her as they slumped down or sat up with the raising or dropping of her knees. She was waiting for them to move so she could get up, because with all the wine she had been drinking she didn't really have much confidence in her ability to stand up and she didn't want to show them anything.

This was not all. Men were often standing over her looking down the front of her dress. She couldn't believe they would do something like that and make it so obvious. Weren't they embarrassed? She thought of saying something, but she didn't want to seem paranoid or prudish. Standing there now was none other than Mr. Elman. She looked down at herself. The dress was so low cut she could see where the curve rounded under the bottom of her b-cup breasts. Even worse, her breasts were pointy, like spinning tops, and came to points which could clearly be seen in the light cotton dress. She could even make out where her nipples puffed out. Her self-consciousness caused her nipples to swell up and harden, making them even more conspicuous.

She crossed her arms to cover herself and, in retrospect, that was a mistake, because when she did, Mr. Elman leaned down and began to massage her shoulders, saying "You look tense, Jelena, let me help you relax a little bit."

Why didn't she just tell him no, and then get up and leave?

She didn't want to make him upset or make it seem like she felt uncomfortable at all.

"I have to go," she thought. She tried to draw away from him and lean forward. When she did so her legs came open a little and she saw the faces of the men across from her betray lusty and satisfied grins. And she wasn't even able to get up. Mr. Elman's grasp on her was firm. He held her fast to him firmly massaging his fingers into her shoulders and neck.

"Just relax," he said firmly. "You're very tight." The men across from her snickered. She leaned back a little. "That's better, little girl," he said. She thought him calling her "little girl" was kind of creepy.

He was kneading her neck and shoulders. Even though his touching her made her uneasy, she could not deny that it felt good. It was apparent that he had done this before.

"How does it feel?" he asked.

"It's nice, thanks" she admitted, hoping he would soon stop and she could thank him for a nice afternoon and go. She saw the young man come out of the house and watch as Mr. Elman massaged her.

"Mark, come over here," Mr. Elman said. Mark obeyed. He now stood next to Mr. Elman as the older man rubbed Jelena's shoulders.

"Ever given a massage before, Mark?" Mr. Elman asked.

"No sir," the young man answered.

"Well then, you take that shoulder and I'll take this one. Just watch what I do."

To have these two men massaging her made Jelena nervous. She knew this was dangerous and it made her feel dirty, but she didn't want to risk hurting Mark's feelings by asking them to stop. He seemed like a nice guy. She hoped they would just do it for a few minutes and then she could go. She trembled in their grasp and broke out in chill bumps of discomfort. Her nipples were just getting harder and harder and protruding under the flimsy little dress. She knew Mark could see them by looking down the front of the light fabric. What was worse, they ached to be touched. Why did her body betray her like this? All she wanted to do was get up and go. But her body liked what they were doing to her.

Her head, neck, and shoulders were loosening up under the influence of the massaging hands. She felt herself getting flush, then hot—so hot she was melting in their hands. She knew they could see her swelling breasts, and felt the other men's eyes running up and down her exposed legs, which she had to be mindful of, lest she relax the least little bit, let her knees part, and give them what they were looking for: a clear shot at her panties, the mere thin fabric separating them from her now moistening pussy.

"That's it, Jelena, just relax," Mr. Elman said. "Why don't you close your eyes."

She didn't want to, but she did. Why was she doing everything he told her to do?

Soon after she closed her eyes, she felt Mr. Elman's hand slip the strap of the dress off her right shoulder. Startled, she reached up to put it back, saying "No. Please. I should go now."

"I'm sorry to upset you Jelena. I was just going to show Mark your beautiful breasts. He has never seen a woman's breast before. Besides, everyone can practically see them already. What if we just let him see? He can just look down the front of your dress. No one else will be able to see. Besides, they're just breasts. It's not like we're showing him your pussy or anything."

A few people sitting around started laughing and Jelena's thoughts started spinning out of control. "They're just breasts?" she thought. "Really? Then why does he want to see them? Had Mr. Elman just say 'pussy?' Can he say that to me, an employee? Isn't that sexual harassment?" While she panicked, though, she just looked away at the ground and said nothing. Mr. Elman took her lack of protest as a yes. She knew he would. He reached down and grabbed the top of the dress and pulled it away from her body. When her breasts became fully visible to Mark, he stopped massaging. Mr. Elman urged him on.

"Keep massaging her shoulders, Mark."

Mark resumed. Why didn't she just say no? She could have refused and got up and left. But she didn't, and she hated them for it. Another man walked up behind them and began peering at her cone-shaped breasts, with their nipples betraying her by puffing out and becoming highly sensitized.

She raised her hand to push the fabric back over her, but it was quickly seized by Mr. Elman. "It's okay," he said. "He's just looking . . . and they're just tits."

"But you said..."

"Shhhh...." He cut her off.

She felt her power to resist waning. She was giving in. Now he was referring to her breasts as "tits." She had become a pair of "tits." Her tits, and the rest of her body, was betraying her, too. She felt her neck and face burning with shame. But rather than get up and leave, she let her shoulders fall and leaned back, closing her eyes. She even relaxed her legs letting them part just a little. She was more than just a pair of tits. She was a pussy, too. This fact was not lost on the two old perverts sitting across from her.

Mr. Elman held her dress farther out away from her. He, Mark, and the other unidentified man had a clear view of naked breasts under the dress. Once it was obvious what was happening, others came over and enjoyed the view down her top. Her breath quickened and her chest heaved.

Mr. Elman said, "Mark, I think her leaning back means that she's inviting you to touch her breasts." She didn't respond to what Mr. Elman said. Mark did. He reached his clumsy hands down the front of her dress. His touch was like an electric shock. He was clumsy and rough. He reached straight for her swollen nipples and pinched hard. The pain perfectly distracted her from what was happening, giving her something to focus on. A groan escaped her lips as she let her head go completely back. The unidentified man cradled her head and neck in his hands and caressed her.

"Mmmm. She likes that Mark," Mr. Elman said. He slipped the straps off her shoulders, letting the dress fall down beneath her bust, completely exposing her now sore and swollen breasts for the whole remaining group, which consisted of eight men and two women. She felt her own inner heat wash over her, and could feel herself alternately experiencing hot flashes and breaking out in chill bumps. She began to tremble. Mr. Elman then slipped his hand in between her knees, pulling her legs open.

Here she was . . . a boy pulling and pinching her aching nipples and her legs open for men she didn't even know to see between her legs to her panties. She wondered if there were already a wet spot.

"Why don't you kiss her, Mark?" Mr. Elman said.

"Open your mouth Jelena. It's just a kiss," he said, authoritatively.

She complied. Mark began kissing her lips. But Mr. Elman told him, "Kiss her harder, and deeper, Mark. Put your tongue in her mouth. Make her suck on your tongue."

Mark was kissing her roughly, probing her mouth with his tongue. She kissed back, flipping her tongue against his and sucking it deeper into her mouth. Mr. Elman leaned up to her ear. She could feel his breath on her as he said, "I want you to spread your legs wide open for me and hold them there. Then I want you to pull your panties to the side. I'm going to feel your pussy. If it is wet, we're going to fuck you."

The way he said it was humiliating to her, as if it were her fault somehow that her pussy was soaking wet—as if she were the one making the decisions here. What did he mean, "we?"

"Suck on her tits, Mark," Mr. Elman said, "while I feel her cunt." The word "cunt" sent shivers through her. She was trembling so hard anyone would have noticed. They were using her. And she was letting them. She wanted them to take her. Her "cunt" throbbed and gushed with wetness. She could feel her lips tingling, swelling, and opening to Mr. Elman and he had yet to even touch her between her legs. She couldn't believe this was happening in broad daylight at the home of her boss and a bunch of other people she hardly knew.

As Mark started sucking on her breasts, she arched her back, serving her tits to his mouth. Simultaneously, one set of salty fingers entered her mouth while another pulled her hair from behind, hurting her slightly. They must have belonged to the unidentified man, she thought. But it didn't matter anymore who did what. The men around her would melt into one mélange of cocks, balls, fingers, and mouths.

She had shaved herself completely in anticipation of her supposed date, which made her feel more like a total whore, and she could hear the sounds—cheers even—of the other people at the cookout as she reached down and pulled her own panties to the side so that Mr. Elman could show the crowd how much she liked what they were doing to her. It shamed her that he was making her participate in her own humiliation. Once she had exposed her pussy, she heard him say, "look at this smooth little shaved pussy, " before she felt a few light slaps. You could hear the embarrassing sound of wetness when his hand made contact. Then it happened: his fingers began to slide effortlessly in and out of her, right there in front of everybody.

"Why Jelena," said Mr. Elman as he finger-fucked her, "you've got the wettest little cunt I've ever seen." She couldn't help but let a moan escape around the fingers that swirled around her mouth. "It's wonderful. You all have got to feel this!"

Other hands began to explore her. Jelena could hardly stand it. She felt an orgasm welling up inside her already. Mr. Elman was an expert. He curved his two fingers upward inside her and was rubbing her g-spot, which, she knew, would make her have a squirting orgasm right there in front of everybody. She did not want to make any more of a spectacle out or herself than she already was, but she knew she wouldn't be able to help it.

Just then she felt his fingers slip out of her opening. She started to panic. What was he doing? Why was he stopping?

"Okay Jelena. If you want to come, you're going to have to fuck these fingers yourself."

He was making her fuck his fingers so that she could come. It occurred to her one last time to get up and leave, but that would be awkward, she thought. She felt humiliated, but it only added to her arousal and she was so close to orgasm. Her eyes began to tear up and she sobbed a bit onto the fingers in her mouth as she raised her hips and pushed her cunt onto the fingers, bucking and bucking and bucking her hips into them. The utter shamefulness of this situation: a young boy still sucking her nipples while she sucked another man's dirty fingers and fucked her boss's fingers drove her over the edge quickly. She shuddered to her first orgasm. Thrusting her hips forward, her pussy pushed Mr. Elman's fingers out and began to squirt streams of ejaculate from her quivering pussy and trembling body. The fingers left her mouth and she screamed "Oh my god! Ohhhhh! God!—to the delight of all watching. Catcalls rang out among the crowd that had made their way closer and formed a circle around her. She heard Mr. Elman say, "we got ourselves a squirter, ladies and gentlemen, a perfect little slut with a shaved, squirting pussy." She wasn't a slut, was she? What the fuck had she gotten herself into?