Scoutmaster’s Tent Taboo

Sitting there across from Scoutmaster Harlan in the stuffy tent, canvas walls glowing faint green from the trees outside, his campaign hat tilted back, eyes drilling into me like he owned every freckle on my face. “You’ve been a good scout, Ethan,” he rumbled, voice gravelly, thick fingers stacking blankets nearby while his knee brushed mine. Heart pounding, I nodded, palms sweaty on my own hat, that red neckerchief suddenly too tight around my throat. The air hung heavy with canvas and his musky cologne, stirring something filthy in my gut.

He stood slow, towering, unbuttoning his green shirt as I dropped to my knees unbidden, face level with the thick bulge snaking down his khaki pants. “Show me how eager you are, boy,” he growled, hand cupping my jaw, thumb tracing my lips. I yanked his belt open, zipper rasping loud in the quiet tent, freeing that fat, veiny cock—already leaking salty pre-cum that hit my tongue like a drug. Shit, it throbbed heavy in my mouth, stretching my jaw as I slurped deep, gagging wetly while his pubes tickled my nose, balls swinging against my chin. “Fuck yeah, swallow it like a champ,” he groaned, hips bucking, mustache twitching above me.

He hauled me up rough, ripping my uniform shirt off, shoving me face-down over the wooden camp table. Naked now except my socks and neckerchief, ass up, cool air kissing my exposed hole. His callused hands kneaded my cheeks, spreading ’em wide—musky tent scent mixing with my own arousal dripping down my thighs. “Look at this tight little scout pussy,” he murmured, breath hot on my crack, then his thick fingers probed, slick with spit, circling my rim before pushing in knuckle-deep. I moaned like a bitch, table creaking under me, his hairy chest pressing my back, cock nestling hot between my cheeks.

He flipped me half-around, hoisting my socked leg high over his muscled forearm, watch glinting as he stroked his meat right against my stretched hole. “Gonna wreck you proper,” he promised, mustached lips crashing mine in a beard-scratchy kiss tasting of authority and sin. One finger became two, scissoring my greedy ass open, prostate throbbing under the assault—waves of need making my toes curl in those green socks. Sweat dripped from his furry pits onto my smooth chest, our grunts echoing off the tent poles, his pubes grinding my taint as he teased entry.

Pre-cum smeared everywhere, my hole clenching desperate for that bareback plunge, vulnerability hitting hard—this man could ruin me, and fuck, I craved it. But little did I know, that was just the warmup… with his scout buddies unzipping outside the flap, ready to join the real merit badge lesson.