Church Picnic

Do I like children? Why, yes, I do.

Do I like a lot of small children running around and screaming their collective heads off? Well, I won't say I like them, but I don't mind them, as long as they're over there and I'm someplace else, watching from afar.

The trouble was that right at this moment I seemed to be surrounded by the little monsters, all yelling at the top of their not so little voices, galloping around like a herd of horses over-dosed on uppers.

What had got into my husband to volunteer to help out at the Church picnic was beyond me. Bad enough to actually have to go, but to volunteer to help? Especially with the children, and I use that word only because I've been raised not to use foul language.

I wasn't at the picnic to help. I was there to relax, eat something, drink bad coffee, and provide moral support to my beloved husband. I was most certainly not there to help control a screaming horde while the parents of that screaming horde sat around and watched. My husband, bless him, had said he would organise some games for them. A few races and friendly competitions. Now he was heading back this way with a few victims to help him. I'm sorry. That should have read a few volunteers to help him. These were eager martyrs, full of righteousness, keen to lend a helping hand, ignorant of the fact that those little fiends would probably bite that hand.

I smiled at James, told him I really needed to go visit Mother Nature and I would be back soon. I was quite sure he and his posse could carry on without me.

I headed over towards the public rest-rooms, ducked around them and kept on going into the woods, away from the whole mad scene, breathing a sigh of relief to have escaped.

I've only been married for a year and so far have zero children. Today's experience was not convincing me that I should contribute to the population explosion just yet. There was plenty of time for that in the future.

I strolled through the woods, enjoying the peace and quiet. After a while I came to where a creek ran through the woods. A small area had been cleared to one side of the creek and there was grass and a picnic table with benches. Just the thing for someone wanting to get away from it all. I sat down and contemplated the rippling water.

"Aren't you supposed to be with your James, helping organise the kids?" someone asked.

"No," I flatly stated, not even turning to see who it was. "James volunteered. I did not. Neither do I choose to be drafted. I may return and lend a hand but, there again, I may not."

"You don't think it's your Christian duty?" he asked, and I could hear the laugh in his voice.

"No. They all have parents, most of who are at the picnic. I wouldn't feel right, abrogating parental rights. I'm sure they'll manage."

The man strolled around and I looked him over. He was tall, not unhandsome, had a friendly, smiling, face, and I had no idea who he was.

"I'm Elizabeth, more often known as Liz," I told him. I waited for him to introduce himself.

"Well, yes, Liz, I know that," he said.

He did? Come to think of it he did look a trifle familiar, but I still couldn't place him.

"You don't remember me?" he asked. "I am wounded, deeply wounded. Think cassock." With the last word he ran his hand down from shoulder height to his knees as though indicating the long flowing robe.

"Father O'Brien? Oh. I didn't recognise you out of your cassock. How silly of me." He also looked years younger in casual clothes.

"Understandable. When you always see someone dressed the same a change of clothes can throw you. Mind you, I'd think I'd recognise you anywhere, in or out of your clothes."

I blinked. It was my imagination. No way he meant that the way it sounded.

"It's the hair," I said, touching my naturally red top. "I bet if I dyed it you wouldn't know me."

"No," he said, sounding very thoughtful. "I don't think it's just the hair."

When he said that his eyes were on my chest. OK, so I was very nicely endowed in that area and was used to men talking to my breasts, but this was a first for Father O'Brien. I blushed. He looked amused.

"I was asked once if I thought you had, ah, enhanced your breasts. I said no way, you have too much self-confidence to need that sort of prop. Enhancements are for people who have low self-esteem, and that's not you."

I was both flattered and embarrassed. He was right, my breasts were natural. I have a friend who had falsies put in, and I knew just what he meant about self-esteem. Marge always had a problem with the way she regarded herself. Me, I was quite happy with my own figure. I might have liked a shade of hair that was more auburn than what I had, but I was content with it. I'd never seen the need to dye it.

"Yes, well you're right," I admitted, "but I don't think you should be talking about my breasts."

"I quite agree. I'd much rather be touching them."

Boy, I blinked at that one. That was a scandalous suggestion.

"Father O'Brien!" I exclaimed, shocked.

"What?" he said, spreading his hands to indicate puzzled innocence. "I was just being honest. You have a beautiful bust. If I don't ask now I'll probably never get another chance to see them. What are the odds that I'll find you alone and so casually dressed at the same time I am. Oh, and while I'm dressed casually, please call me Kevin."

"All right, Kevin. Let me make it clear. You can't just tell a girl you want to see or touch her breasts."

"Odd. I thought I just did that. Really, when you consider it, you're wearing a short top and abbreviated shorts that suit you very nicely and show off a lovely figure to its best advantage. You have to admit that the shortness of your attire doesn't leave a lot to the imagination, and I have a very good one. I just want to see if the reality measures up to the dream."

"You don't seriously think I'd lift up my top so you can see my breasts?"

"Of course not," he said, and I breathed a small sigh of relief.

"I want you to take your top right off. And your bra. I want to see you as you're supposed to be seen. Clothes are just a decoration that hides true beauty, although," he added, "sometimes they're a blessing."

I thought of some of the people at the church and decided that, yes, clothes were a true blessing at times.

"I am not taking my top off," I told him.

"As you wish," he said, nice and calm. "I don't mind doing it."

I was still trying to digest this remark when he stepped forward, took hold of my top and lifted it straight up. My arms automatically rose into the air and the next thing I knew he was tossing my top onto the table, leaving me sitting there with my bra on display.

"Father O'Brien," I exclaimed, shocked all over again.

"Kevin, remember," he said. "Ah, which of us gets to undo your bra."

"My bra?"

"Yes, your bra. Get with the program. We're taking your clothes off, remember."

"We're doing no such thing," I protested, and he looked pointedly at my top, a top I was no longer wearing. "That wasn't me doing that," I said.

"Uh-huh. Is it going to be you taking off your bra?"

Talk about having a one track mind.

"Alright. If it will shut you up I'll take it off. You can have your look and then go away."

I reached behind me and flicked open the catch, the bra almost leaping off my breasts once the tension was released. I dropped the bra on top of my top and glared at him.

"Satisfied now?" I asked.

"Don't be silly," he said, his hands already running over my breasts.

I could feel my nipples tightening, standing out. He certainly noticed that happening and he lightly pinched them, laughing at me as he did so.

"Do you mind?" I demanded.

"No," he said and bent down and started tasting my breasts, kissing them and sucking on the nipples.

I just sat there, not knowing what to do. I mean, he just couldn't do something like this, but he was.

He finally lifted his head, and smiled at me.

"Stand up," he said softly, and I jumped to my feet, wondering if I should slap him.

It turned out that I would have been safer remaining seated. He just flicked open the button in front on my shorts and started pulling them down. Started? What am I saying? He did pull them down, taking my panties with them. I was naked.

"Very nice," he said softly. "I love the little patch of curls. Quite a fiery colour, isn't it? Soft, too."

Yes, well he'd know how soft it was. He was rubbing it. And that wasn't the only thing he was rubbing.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" I demanded, feeling all hot and bothered.

Well, wouldn't you be? I was standing in front of a man, naked, while he was touching me, in those places where he shouldn't.

He grinned at me.

"I'll give you a hint," he said, and calmly unzipped and hauled his cock out into the open.

I was stunned, partly because he had the nerve to do that, partly because he needed both hands to do it. His cock was huge. Well, perhaps I'm exaggerating a little, but not by all that much. His cock was certainly larger than average, and it was standing tall and fat. I'm quite sure my face was bright red.

I just stood there, gaping, and he stood there smiling. And touching. He continued to reach out and touch me, his hands brushing against my breasts and rubbing my mound, fingers gently parting my lips and exploring inside.

"Are you going to rape me?" I asked in a small voice.

"Certainly not." Now it was father O'Brien's turn to sound scandalised.

"However, if you permit it I am going to bend you forward across that table and show you what a cock was made for."

I glanced down at his cock. It looked bigger and fatter than ever.

"You really think I'll just bend over at your request and let you, let you. . ." My voice failed me.

"I don't know what you'll decide," he told me. "You're a woman and I never try to guess which way a woman will jump. If I did guess I'd probably guess wrong."

With that he was turning me around to face the table, his hand on my back encouraging me to bend over it. I wanted to point out that this was wrong, that he couldn't do this, list all the reasons why he should just back off and leave me alone. Instead a little voice was saying, that's a very big cock, he's got. What will it feel like?

He's not really going to do it, I was telling myself, feeling his hand continuing to rub back and forth along my mound. Not really. He's just doing this to tease me, and even this is quite shocking. He won't do any more than this.

I was still telling myself that when I felt his fingers stretching my lips further apart and something was pressing between them. My eyes were opening wider and wider, not really believing that this was happening, but I couldn't deny what was taking place. My mind switched from 'he's not going to', starting to yammer, 'My god, he's actually doing it. Tell him no, you idiot.'

I opened my mouth but instead of saying no I found myself saying, "Oh, my, goodness gracious me." I'd been about to say 'oh, my, god', but I remembered who he was. That's why I rushed out that goodness gracious me.

Not that he seemed to notice. He just kept pressing forward and I could feel him, big and fat and hard, pushing along my passage as though he owned it. He was filling me, taking me over, leaving me paralysed and helpless, unable to do anything but stand there while his cock ploughed into me. To make it worse he wasn't even having to force his way along. I was all hot and wet and my passage was yielding quite happily to this invasion.

You're probably thinking it wasn't too late to stop him and I guess you're right. If I said NO, nice and loud I'm quite sure he'd have backed off. Trouble was all I could think of was the way his big fat cock was making me feel. Like a woman taking care of a man, if you know what I mean.

His hands were covering my breasts, and the way he was handling them showed he was enjoying the feel of them. That was nothing to the way his cock seemed to be enjoying the feel of my body. Almost right from the word go he'd been giving me long hard thrusts. He wasn't going bang, bang, bang, so much as thrusting powerfully into me and holding himself firmly inside me for a moment before doing a slow dragging withdrawal and then thrusting in again with another power laden surge.

All I could do was go with him, lifting my bottom and pushing hard back to meet him as he thrust into me. The whole thing was passionately erotic, with my excitement seeming to jump higher with every thrust.

He was slowly picking up speed as he went, the pauses between thrusts getting shorter, the actual thrusts themselves seeming to drive in faster. He knew just what he was doing to me. For a man of the cloth he'd certainly picked up some experience somewhere and he was willing to share it with me.

I wasn't going to last much longer and I knew it. I could feel my climax gathering, waiting to explode through me, and then it happened. I slapped a hand against my mouth, not wanting to shriek in this place, shaking with the force of my climax, feeling his cock jerking and throbbing as he emptied himself into me.

To my surprise he produced a small packet of moistened tissues, giving them to me so I could clean myself up and wipe myself down before I hurried to put my clothes back on.

I was shocked. Had that man hypnotised me or something. To actually let him do something like that, in the open air, in what was effectively a public place. What on earth would I have done if someone had come along?

We left that little nook separately. As I wandered back towards the picnic area I could help but wonder. How would I feel when I saw him in church? Where had he gained his skills in sex? Had he slept with other women in the church? If so, who? Even more important, when I got back to the picnic ground would James try to get me to help with the little monsters?