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Message-ID: <28049asstr$977836203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Phil Phantom" <PP@PhilPhantom.Com>
Subject: {ASSM} Getting to Know Boys
Date: Tue, 26 Dec 2000 08:10:03 -0500
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<1st attachment, "getting-2-know-boys-tiff.txt" begin>

    Getting to Know Boys
                       By: Tiffany
                   HTTP://PhilPhantom.Com

My best friend, Jenny Carson, and her husband, Phil, once had their
very own Boy Scout troop. Phil was the scoutmaster. Jenny was the
assistant scoutmaster. They had two boys in the troop of twenty, so
the Carsons were very into scouting. I often helped out though I have
no boys, never had brothers, and don't understand boys. I knew enough
to know that Jenny needed my help, especially when Phil couldn't make
a meeting, which he often couldn't because of a demanding job. I
helped because Jenny could not control two of those boys by herself
much less twenty. I was not much help, but having me there allowed her
to share her misery, pain, humiliation, and embarrassment. Misery does
love company. I am at least company, and I do make a good witness,
though I was never called to testify.

In the first year that Phil and Jenny served as the responsible adults
of Troop 677, I saw enough shit to make most adult females run from
Boy Scouts in groups of two or more, but this is the story of year two
and what can go wrong when responsible adults aren't.

I can't say I didn't see the shit coming, but I can say that all I
wanted to do was watch, bear witness, keep a diary, maybe write a book
- a how-not-to book. The first chapter would be on choosing good boys
to serve in your troop - young, impressionable, obedient, eager-to-
please, choir-type boys. What you need are pre-pubescent boys that are
not the slightest bit interested in sex.

We didn't have that type. We had squirters - twenty, young, dumb,
full-of-cum boys with pubic hair and deep voices. I don't know where
they got those sex-hungry delinquents they had, although I do know
where they got ten percent of them. Two out of twenty came from
between Jenny's legs, but twenty eventually came between her legs. My
testimony could send 100% of Troop 677 up the juvenile river. I have
witnessed Jenny being gang raped more times than I have witnessed her
getting her nails done, and I do her nails once a week since
graduating beautician school eleven years ago. Before they started
raping her, they used her as the centerpiece of their troop circle
jerks. At first, they had to tie her to keep her in the center, but
they eventually had her trained to sit there and take it - take it and
wear it.

They practiced their knot tying skills on her. They earned merit
badges on her helpless body. I have seen her shaved from head to toe.
Even today, ten years later, Jenny has over three dozen tattoos and
brands to permanently mar her beautiful body. Her tits are so
stretched out they look like granny jugs when she had the most lovely
set of perky Cs. She has a large 677 seared into her pubic mound, not
that I don't, but they did far more to her. Year two began with a gang
bang and a 677 fire brand right on the cunt. I was a bit quicker and
harder to subdue. I will kick a brat in the balls. Jenny won't. For
all the good it did, I bore witness and took down names.

I was always prepared to help meat out justice, but Phil and Jenny are
far more tolerant and forgiving. They take a boys-will-be-boys
attitude, and boys need guidance not discipline. I can still hear
their bullshit as though fresh from a bull's ass ten years later:

   We are not here to lead; we only guide. 

   If boys earn discipline, adults have failed. 

   Boys are never bad, simply misguided.

   Show me a boy who isn't interested in kinky sex,
   and I'll show you a girl dressed like a boy.

To which I usually said, "Fine, but those boys are dangerous animals.
They need to be in cages."

We went round and round on the guide-with-freedom verses the lead-
with-a-carrot-and-big-fuckin'-stick issue, but I still hung in there
even after I began suffering the same fate as Jenny.

After Jenny got gang raped and branded, and the fucking little
bastards got away with doing that, the fucking little bastards began
taking a greater interest in me - bigger game. I posed a challenge,
but I could be got. Well, I did get got. When I got got, I got it good
for all the times I didn't get got by being too quick, too strong, and
too aggressive in my self-defense, but when they all gang up on a
woman, a woman may as well relax and go with it.

They did get me, and they took their sexual liberties, but they didn't
dare do to me what they did to my dear friend, Jenny. Not at first.
That took several months of steady, weekly conditioning treatments.
What amazes me to this day is that I underwent the necessary
conditioning and could see where it was all headed. Whatever Jenny
suffered, I was right behind her by a few weeks.

Before I became involved in scouting, I had no idea what a circle jerk
was. I found those quite interesting until I saw one from Jenny's
perspective. A twenty-stud circle jerk is terribly messy. I had never
been gang banged much less branded on the pussy with my legs staked
out in the splits. I must say, that camping trip was a unique and
excruciating experience. We are not talking about an itty bitty brand.
We are talking about a cattle brand the size of a woman's pubic bush
heated red hot in real fire.

The branding of the cunt's cunt was the culminating act of three days
in captivity, the endless gang bang/circle jerk while responsible
adults went about their business of guiding without leading or
resorting to discipline, which worked about as well as it had for
Jenny, only the fuckers did her on an overnight outing. They had me
for a three-day camping trip - big difference.

I don't know why that experience didn't turn me off to scouts and
scouting altogether, at least camping, but it didn't. I was at the
next meeting a week later and showed my healing pussy to the troop in
the 677 Troop Hut. I came prepared in a slinky dress with no panties
on. I stood before the entire troop which now numbered twenty-eight,
all seated Indian fashion on the floor at my feet. I lifted my dress
to my waist, stepped out, and showed them my pussy, not just the brand
on my mound. I showed those brats my pussy, which was a pussy they
were all too familiar with from having fucked it, played with it,
tormented it for three fucking hellish days the week before. I wasn't
showing them anything new. I was showing them that they could do that
to me and get away with it, and I did that at a meeting that Phil
presided over.

Phil and Jenny talked me into doing that as a sign that there were no
hard feelings and that I was a good sport - now a fully fledged 677
cunt. Jenny had been fully fledged for several months. To be accepted,
I had to take the brand and be proud of the brand. I also had to be
proud of my branded cunt. I thought they were nuts, but I ended up
doing as they suggested and felt like a total idiot the whole time I
stood there proudly showing those delinquents my most intimate
anatomy, a part they called cunt. It wasn't showing my cunt that made
me feel like an idiot. It was knowing what message I was sending.

That message was actually several: 

        It is okay to treat a woman that way. 

        It is okay to force sex on a woman. 

        It is okay to tie a woman down and have your way with her. 

        Women love being treated like cunts by gangs of boys in
        uniforms.
        
I knew I was sending those messages, and I knew Phil wanted me to send
his boys those messages. By this time, I knew he got off on his wife
sending them those messages, and he got off on the disastrous
consequences that fucked-up a perfectly lovely white body with
scouting filth. I watched all of it being done, and she wasn't bound
and helpless for most of it. She watched them do it, suffered through
it, then watched them fuck her. In fact, she watched herself get
pregnant, possibly by one of her own sons.

When Jenny received her 677 brand, she in effect became the Troop
whore. I witnessed that transformation. Watching twenty-plus horny
boys with an adult whore made for some very interesting scout meetings
and scout outings. They pretty much kept her naked and kept her busy.
I pretty much kept my eye on her while keeping my defenses up.

Phil and I became lovers at one of those meetings, hanging back,
watching his wife pull a troop train. He got close behind me, pulled
me by the hips into his erection, then reached under my dress and
inside my panties to feel how wet I was. I was very wet. His two
middle fingers felt very good as he put his wet lips to my ear and
said, "That could be you having all that fun. They want you bad, Jan -
real bad. Don't be such a prude. Let these boys have some of this fine
pussy. Let them play with these gorgeous hooters. Those boys need some
first-rate ass. Why let Jenny have all the fun. Next to you, she is
dog meat, but look how they worship dog meat. Imagine how they'll be
with you. Imagine that."

I did - for weeks and weeks while Phil kept reminding me while fucking
me. We didn't have to hide a thing from Jenny or Troop 677. Most of
our fucking was done in her bed with her in it, watching everything we
did, listening to everything we said, and we didn't hold anything
back, though I was some sort of sex goddess to her dog meat. I am
attractive and built, but I am no sex goddess and she wasn't dog meat
by any stretch, but they were turning her into dog meat. If anything,
Jenny and I have always been equal on the sex and beauty scale. She is
petite and pretty in blonde tones. I am full-figured in brunette
tones. We both rated nines or tens depending on good or bad hair days.
Guys always had trouble deciding which of us to risk rejection by.

Even into adulthood and after four kids each, we were still evenly
matched, still very competitive, still nines and tens when we tried.
Tattoos, brands, general graffiti, use, misuse, and abuse were
dragging her down, and nothing excited me more than to hear her
husband compare us that way with her listening in, seeing how that
affected me, watching me put a hard fucking on her man while he put
the filthy slut in her place. The more he put her down and built me
up, the more responsive a lover I became. The man was a great fuck,
but the man was for me; boys and dogs were for her.

How we remained best friends while her husband had his way with me and
the troop had its way with her still boggles my mind. I could have
spared her most of what she went through simply by acting like an
adult in a position of authority. I was never any help in that regard,
more an observer than an assistant. The boys never did see me as any
kind of threat. For the most part, in fact, all through the first
year, they respected my neutral observer status. If anything, my being
present made things worse on Jenny as they were all showing off,
showing off their hard dicks and what they could do to a woman. They
may have called them scout meetings, but I saw them as Jenny's ordeal
meetings. I wouldn't miss one of those for the world.

I kept notes. I took names. I reported to Phil. I gave aid, comfort,
and support to my dear friend - after the fact, but I gave it. I did
what I thought I should do, but no way was I getting in the middle of
that shit. From the very beginning, I saw that Phil and Jenny were
into some kinky shit that was way over my head. I never did buy the
boys-will-be-boys bullshit. Those boys weren't being boys and they
weren't being scouts. They were just being nasty and getting away with
it. I don't know much about boys, but I do know you'll get more of
whatever they can get away with. Week after week, they found out what
they could get away with. One week, they found out they could fuck her
and get away with it.

This happened several weeks before they decided to place a 677 brand
on her cunt. I thought gang rape would be the end of Phil and Jenny's
liberal experiment in guiding boys, but that was the beginning of
scouting the way they wanted it done. That was when I stopped taking
notes and taking names. I took a keener interest in scouting as well
as a keener interest in boys. The little fuckers could fuck - and fuck
- and fuck - and keep on fucking. Oh, the stamina of youth. At a
typical meeting without Phil, I would see Jenny get fucked a hundred
times, usually three at a time.

That'll make any pussy drool, but what made mine slobber at the lips
was watching Jenny's sons treat her like a whore. She has two real
stud muffins. Jason was sixteen at the start of year two, All-State
swimmer with the most gorgeous body and cock to go with it. Trevor was
going on fifteen, built like a Toyota tank, and dreamed of a career in
football. He, too, had a gorgeous cock and he would be hung like his
daddy. He wasn't hung bad at fifteen. He had a good seven inches,
about the same as Jason. Any woman will tell you that seven inches
driven by a jackhammer ass will get and hold her attention.

Jenny's boys were two tight-bunned little motherfuckers who could
really bang it to a bitch. I had known for years how Jenny felt about
incest of the mother/son variety. I used to do her nails while she
nursed them and speculated as to how big their little dicks would get
and what sort of motherfuckers they'd be. Sometimes, she nursed on
them or let me. We nursed on those delicious boys until they were old
enough to tell someone.

I knew she would end up giving those walking erections the E-ticket
ride at Mommyland. It was just a matter of when, where, and how to go
about getting something going. I think scouting presented a way that
got way out of hand. She got her motherfuckers and eighteen more to go
with them - eventually thirty-six more. I got to watch a whirlpool of
decadence and got sucked in.

I was afraid that might happen, and I knew what would happen if they
ever got control of me. I also knew that Phil and Jenny would be no
help. When it finally happened, they weren't. They stood back and
watched, took pictures, video tapes, and offered suggestions. I was
gagged and in their total control, helplessly going for a ride through
a hell I never wanted any part of. I am not at all into tattoos,
certainly not branding of the flesh. A tattoo can be removed, but not
a fire brand. After that campout, I was a 677 cunt for life, branded
right through the fucking pubic hair, setting my bush on fire which
was pissed out. Was I pissed? You bet your sweet ass I was pissed -
for all the good it did.

This was bad - very bad - required many days to heal, and could not be
hidden. At the time, I was very married with four young girls who saw
my nasty burn being tended by a pissed hubby who decided that I
deserved no privacy and had no claim to any modesty. After three days
in captivity, I spent four days in bondage in the delivery position
while my family doctored me, ogled me, discussed me, and amused their
friends with me, because I was bound and gagged except to eat or
drink. My humiliation and shame knew no bounds. Even my affair with
Phil came out when Phil, Jenny, and the boys stopped by. They had some
nerve bringing those brats by, for it was Jason who applied the brand
and wanted to show off to a few non-scouting buddies.

My husband was so upset and disgusted with me, he didn't care what I
suffered. My kids were so amused, they didn't care, either. My eldest
daughter, Barbara, thirteen at that time, thought Jason was the
hunkiest hunk, a punk hunk, and anything Jason did was okay with her.
My other three were younger girls - 10, 8. 5. Any boy who could do
that to their mother's hairy pussy was okay in their book.

I wanted to wring the fucker's neck, but all I could do was lie there
and watch Jason gloat while he felt up and exposed my love-struck and
infatuated daughter, inviting everyone to look at and finger her tight
pussy before he fucked it over my face. After he did, everyone did -
eight cum squirters and three dry cummers. They left me a fucking
mess, and they included Phil and my husband who bonded over my
daughter's tight pussy and the perverse joy of fucking such a young
girl right on a mother's face. I can't say my daughter didn't love
that perversion just as much as they did.

I went through hell, and hell didn't end four days later, nor did
fucking Barbara over my face. My face was the place for her to fuck.
If I had a problem with that, I could always go back into bondage. By
then, I had no problem with that minor perversion. By then, I was very
used to that perversion. I would have missed my facials, but not as
much as Barbara who could get off once while getting fucked but two or
three more times while giving me a fucked cunt facial in a deep squat
while gripping my hip bones or inner thighs. I guess a mother can get
used to anything. I sure did. I didn't care who fucked her as long as
I got a good facial out of the deal.

My husband, Greg, and Jenny began their affair during my recovery. My
face was also the place for them to fuck. I never did that to Jenny,
but she couldn't wait to soil me in that way, abuse me that way, and
humiliate me that way as though that were payback. Barbara was bad,
but Jenny was worse. My daughters loved watching Jenny workout on my
face. Barbara picked up good tips by watching a real pro.

I learned to enjoy those vulgar facials, but I still wasn't too
thrilled with my lot in life, so being a good sport was quite a
challenge, especially since all of those brats had stopped by to fuck
Barbara over my face. She was invited to that meeting. It wasn't so
much me showing them my cunt as it was Barbara who got behind me,
reached both hands around my hips, and used her fingers to open up my
cunt, but she loved doing that, had done it often, but never before so
many boys with no clothes on.

Phil, Greg, and Jenny turned my young daughter into a troop whore,
though she didn't receive a brand. I watched the process in bondage,
powerless to do a damn thing about it except watch. I had the ultimate
view. I saw every dick that violated her young, fertile, and
unprotected body. I not only saw boys use her, I saw grown men,
friends of Phil and Greg. Greg's employer got all the young pussy he
wanted as did several neighbors with a fondness for the young. My
three youngest girls were fathered by Greg and were left unmolested,
but Barbara was a child from my first marriage. She refused to call
Greg, Daddy, so he refused to act like one with her.

Barbara had been a good a decent kid with a weakness for jock
swimmers. Greg and Phil exploited that weakness very effectively.
Jenny was opposed, at first, but she also has a weakness for jock
swimmers. What Jason wants, Jason gets. I must say, Barbara became a
very bad girl rather quickly. I never knew a girl so young to take to
fucking as easily and enthusiastically as Barbara did, but I think
getting fucked right over my face had a great deal to do with that
going over as well as it did. She was easy to fuck after that. Seeing
so much of it did get me used to the idea. By the time I was set free,
I thought of her as a whore with a penchant for fucking over my face.
I was told not to fight it, but the thought never entered my mind, and
I wouldn't dream of stopping Jenny.

The week after my branding, Troop 677 had themselves three whores -
two adults and one child. Greg was made assistant scoutmaster. He
brought his three girls along as mascots. They were my daughters, too,
but I had little or no say in what they could see or do. He didn't
want them fucked, but he did want them naked and in among the troop,
so they were also seated at my feet enjoying the show and a great deal
of attention. When the troop began chanting for me to be stripped,
they were chanting with them. Greg did the honors, then helped lay me
out for the troop train that followed. The girls joined that train and
did some face fucking and fist fucking.

>From there, things degenerated. I ended up with shit I will carry for
the rest of my life with tits that hang to by belly button. I lost a
husband and gained another child. I also became a grandmother. I can't
say I would love to go through the experience again, but I did learn a
great deal about boys. I still say the little fuckers need to be in
cages.

                                  The End
                                  
Read other stories by the same author by visiting Phantom Base at
HTTP://PhilPhantom.Com

CAUTION: Exercise caution and good sense before engaging in unsafe sex
practices that involve any exchange of body fluid, even contact with
open sores or small cuts. Scenes involving large objects, tattoos,
bestial sex, body waste ingestion, bindings, devices and gadgets are
the stuff of fantasy and are offered to promote the only safe sex
there is - masturbation. Before you try anything, find out what the
risks and hazards are because they can all be deadly. Read, enjoy, and
remember - sex with minors should be left to other minors. PP


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