The considerate blinds subdued the sun's rays eager to announce the dawn of the new year. After all, politeness should be shown to those still recovering from their New Year's Eve party.  

One stream of sunlight, however, snuck through and highlighted Miss Patty laying on the floor. She rolled over and fluttered her eyelashes, allowing her pupils time to adjust to the intrusive–

Bloody hell. Forget it. I'm too knackered to write this descriptive prose after the night I've narrated. Never again will my dignified self see these sights again, or rather unsee them. These Kentuckians are a ghastly sort.

Ahem. Where was I? Oh yes, please forgive the rubbish writing that follows as I will simply state that the light woke Miss Patty and she found the curved part of a candy cane stuck to her inner thigh with the stick part buried inside her "hoohaa" (as it's so daftly called in Kentucky).

~ooOoo~

Twelve hours prior…

The smartly dressed Miss Patty was quite chuffed, peering over her spectacles at the nice crowd of members. My best turnout to date, she thought, smiling to herself. 

She stepped up to the refreshments table and dipped her glass into the punchbowl, then reached for a plastic spoon. 

Click. Clink. Clink. "Attention, please." Clink. Clink. Clink. "May I have your attention." 

One by one the attendees ceased their chatter and turned their attention towards their leader, Miss Patty. 

She paused for dramatic effect, then exclaimed, "Season's greetings to each and every one of you! Thank you for coming to our party – and it is our party!" 

After her initial welcome, Miss Patty strolled about the room, weaving in and out the guests. "We are all celebrating the beginning of a new year–" she said, then pumped her tiny fists in the air, "–but also our hard-fought sexual sobriety!" 

The room burst into boisterous applause, ladies and blokes clapping and cheering. Well, all except one. 

Oh dear, Miss Patty thought. Her eagle eyes spotted his stoic facial expression immediately. 

"Nate, dear, is something troubling you?" 

All fell quiet and fixated their eyes on the tall bloke in the corner – Nate – wearing outdated skinny jeans. 

"I … I …" he stuttered, unable to finish his sentence. 

"It's all right, Nate. You are in a safe, supportive, non-judgmental zone," Miss Patty encouraged.

Nate released a heavy sigh. "Well … you see … this is my first New Year's party where I'm not drinking. And feeling up women and stuff. You know, trying to find the one who'll suck my dick at midnight." 

Several nodded their heads in understanding while a few encircled him issuing cheery words of support.

Billy Bob, who was known to be quite dim, surprised everyone by offering words of wisdom, "Nate, buddy, why just last year around this time I was fuckin' a pussy I'd just met, then ate her best friend, and jacked off with the countdown, spraying my goo in the air at midnight." He grimaced. "And you know what? Lost my wife that night. Lost my home. And even the cat." He squeezed Nate's shoulder, "So I understand. Why, I felt a tinge in my taters just a bit ago when I saw Nancy come in with her big boobies bouncin', but we know what happens when we give in to our lust." 

Nate nodded in agreement with Billy Bob whilst Nancy beamed with pride, glancing down at her voluptuous breasts testing the confines of her blouse. 

"Well said, Billy Bob!" Miss Patty applauded him then turned toward Nate. "New Year's Eve parties always test one's sexual sobriety. That's why you're here this year, surrounded by love and support," she said gesturing about the room, sweeping her arms with dramatic motions. "You can learn to have fun without booze, big boobies, and stiff cocks. Your fellow sex addicts support you and–" She suddenly frowned, "Amy, dear, side hugs only. Front hugs can press our protruding bits against the other person, stirring the horny pot." She closed a fist and swirled it around in circles to drive home her "stirring" point. 

"Sorry, I forgot." Amy stepped back, blushing, but not before she felt Nate's hard cock pressing against her tummy. 

Nate's bulge in his pants was not lost on the astute Miss Patty, so she jumped into action, using her best therapy tool – redirection. "Everyone," she clapped her hands rapidly together, "how about our first party game of Twister!" 

Amidst the Nate drama, no one noticed that the bloke in the red-and-black flannel shirt slipped a bottle out of his jacket and poured its contents into the punch bowl. Just like no one noticed the Derby pies contained an additional ingredient. 

A rousing game of Twister was moving along swimmingly until things took an unfortunate twist when the spinner landed on yellow for Ron's turn. Whilst moving his right hand onto the only reachable yellow circle, he found his head directly behind Ruby's bent over, rather rotund body. 

Miss Patty noticed the danger but was too late to stop Ron from lifting his head and sniffing her plump, inviting arse. It took a moment before her scent took over his brain, and he lunged forward lodging his long nose inside the crack of her shapely arse. 

Clap. Clap. Clap. "Okay! Enough Twister. Let's try a different game." Miss Patty quickly disrupted his nosey intrusion before the others noticed. 

Shockingly, Ruby had held steadfast, even giving his nose a slight squeeze with her cheeks if one was intently watching. She rose and walked off as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Her aromatic arse had been safely removed from Ron's nose, but the damage was done. Unbeknownst to anyone, Ruby's knickers grew moist. 

Meanwhile, Miss Patty rattled her perfectly coiffed head for a safer activity. "Time for the gift exchange!" 

And merriment commenced. Everyone waited patiently for his or her turn to select a gift. Miss Patty's heart warmed at the holiday spirit afoot at her party. Friendly side hugs aplenty. Gratefulness on full display as each opened his or her gift. Dick Clark's Rockin' New Year's entertained them on the large screen television, adding to the good, clean fun. Yes, this party was proving a smashing success. They had become a family which was important to those whose sexual promiscuity had cost them so many things. 

Miss Patty's mind wandered, however, to parties long since passed – her darker days. She'd been sexually sober for eight years. No sex outside her committed relationship. No self-love either, as prohibited by the tenets. Nary a finger had touched her clitty in the past eight years. From time to time though, she allowed the memories, kept safely tucked away in the dark crevices of her mind, to resurface to serve as a reminder of how far she'd come (no pun intended, I assure you).

Whilst she strolled down memory lane, recalling all the unnamed cocks she'd slathered her saliva up and down, she failed to notice a shift in the party. The mysterious man in the red-and-black flannel shirt had been mingling, encouraging others to drink more punch and consume more pie. 

Her family, as she had called them, became looser in every sense of the word. Blouses were unbuttoned. Trousers were unzipped. Side hugs turned to full frontal humping. 

The party attendees had gone completely crackers by the time the last drop of punch was drunk and the last morsel of pie was consumed.

When Miss Patty woke from her daydream, she was gobsmacked! Swiftly springing into her mentor role, she scurried about the room, shrieking, "Remember your tenets!" But, it was too late... 

She stopped dead in her tracks, mouth agape upon witnessing Betty in a corner spit-roasted by the Thompson twins. Bobby Thompson pistoned his steel rod in and out her sopping pussy with such force that her face smashed against his brother's pelvis, forcing his cock down her throat with each mighty thrust. Betty would feel where Bobby was tomorrow, but she didn't care – her secret desire of taking in two cocks at once was finally realised. 

A distant squeal caused Miss Patty's head to snap to another direction in time to see Gertie squatting on the floor, legs spread, fucking herself with a party favour. What was worse, Nate had discovered a new hobby as a voyeur and, with cock in hand, stood beside Gertie, stroking himself in sync with the party favour plunging in and out her pussy. The mutual masturbation was a first for both, but obviously wouldn't be the last by the jubilant noises escaping their mouths. 

"No self-love!" pleaded Miss Patty, rushing towards them. Before she reached the duo, a ruckus from the dessert table stole her attention. 

Molly Mae was quite naked, spread about the tabletop like she was a dessert herself. Breasts were topped with meringue from the pies; chocolate pudding coated her furry patches. Well, wouldn't you know, Miss Patty, trying to run in her high heels, tripped and fell, face-planting on Molly Mae's pudding mound. The smell of Molly Mae's puss reached her nostrils through the chocolate pudding and she raised her messy face and staggered backwards, fighting the arousal building within her. Save yourself! her inside voice screamed. 

As Miss Patty continued her backward retreat, the horny vultures descended, each bloke and lady fighting for their share of the Molly Mae buffet. Hungry tongues wrestled for a position on top of her jellybean-sized nipples. Her legs were spread and heads butted for a lick of her tasty snatch; the slowest, Marge, got stuck with her dirty arsehole, but she didn't complain. 

Miss Patty, now a safe distance away, could only gasp in horror, screaming, "Remember your tenets! Remember your tenets!" She knew, however, that this bloody party had gone all to pot. 

Drowned out by grunts and groans from the previously sexually sober, her pleas fell on deaf ears. Even a few squeals from Billy Bob filled the air, surprisingly harmonizing with the festive holiday music. 

The candy canes in their gift bags were quite an obvious blunder as several ladies were dipping them in each other's cunts before licking and lapping them with gusto.

One hornblower was protruding out a – blimey, I can't even describe the noise when Amy bent to blow on it. 

Another lady was bare arsed, sprawled over a bloke's knees, kicking her legs, flailing her arms. Miss Patty charged, "You stop that whipping at once!" 

Jim Bob held his hand mid-spank until Kimmi Sue raised her smiling face up and squealed, "But I like it, Miss Patty!" 

Oh dear, Miss Patty's party had unravelled in ways no one could have imagined. The blokes, led by their festive joysticks, raced around looking for a tit to suck or a hole to fuck. The ladies, far removed from proper, opened their mouths, pusses, and arseholes for anything long and twitching. The last year's self-control rebelled, morphing into a no-limits, no-inhibitions, sexfest. Flood gates opened and cum squirted, sprayed, and spewed, (or trickled in poor Sam's case), making the Moose Lodge look like it'd been hit by a gooey snowstorm. 

Miss Patty hugged herself, spun around in circles, fell into hopelessness and despair at the sights before her, then she spied her – one lone survivor amongst the debauched – Bobby Jean. Miss Patty ran to her and enveloped the sobbing lady in her most compassionate side hug. 

"There, there. It's a sad sight, I know, deary." 

"It's … not … that… sob sob sob … there are no dicks … sniffle sniffle … left for meeeeee!"

Then through her teary eyes, Bobby Jean spied it – the only remaining vacant cock – short, quite sad-looking really, but nonetheless vacant. Her stubby legs ushered her over to it as fast as they could. Since the bloke's face was covered by a very eager beaver (as they say in Kentucky), she didn't know to whom it belonged, but it didn't matter. It was hers!

She gave it a few hard yanks to see if she might get more out of it, but no, it was not to be. Shrugging her shoulders, she decided it was better than nothing and straddled him, raised her skirt, lined him up, and engulfed him first try!

Time flew by and the countdown to New Year's had begun. All the faces not trapped by clenching thighs or covered in dripping cunts excitedly turned towards the big screen. When the countdown reached ten, Billy Bob, Jackson, and Wally stood wanking their hearts out while Ima Jean, Nancy, and Carol knelt before them, with mouths open like three baby birds squawking for food from Mum. 

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven. 

Six.

Five.

Four. Bloody hell, Billy Bob couldn't hold out and popped his cork, missing her mouth and spewing his sticky spunk all over Nancy's bouncing breasts. 

Three.

Two. There went Jackson, hitting Carol in the eyeball with a stream of goo. 

One. 

"The Wallysaurus blows!" warned Wally. 

"Noooooooo!" A screaming Miss Patty sprang out of nowhere and flung her body through the air in a heroic attempt to save Ima Jean, but was struck right in the mouth with a load of his cum. Long-lost instinct resurfaced and she swallowed his warm cummy sweetness. That's when she looked up and saw the bloke in the red-and-black flannel shirt towering over her.

"Who are you?" She questioned. "You're not one of the regulars."

"No, I ain't." He scratched his ratty, bearded chin. "I just seen your sign up at the Kwik Pick about a New Year's Eve party for sex addicts and thought it might be some big fun." 

"Recovering sex addicts," she corrected, wiping a dangling string of cum off her chin. 

He read the room. "Pardon me, but y'all ain't lookin' like yer recovered to me." Then, he made his move, whipping out his nine-inch cock and just like that Miss Patty threw away eight years of sobriety. 

Yes, Sweet Miss Patty Cakes, their once fearless leader, had been the last to succumb, but once she did … blimey … cum she did, spending the next several hours squirting her gooey goodness in the most spectacular manner of them all!

Lacking the strength to retrieve her cummy candy cane for one last lick, Miss Patty stole a last glance at the entangled mass of sticky bodies – the once sexually sober – before a post-cum coma claimed her. 

Oh, there'd be quite the lot of remorseful humpers, suckers, and fuckers, but luckily it was New Year's Day – a smashing time for new resolutions.

~ The End ~