Boys caught naked by girl scouts part 1 of 8

Boys caught naked by girl scouts part 1 of 8  

This is, I think, a deliciously sweet story. Here are the ingredients. A baking sweltering summer day. A party of 18-year-old schoolboys, walking in the woods. A secluded rock pool and - boys are boys - the fellas strip off all their gear and plunge in. Nude. This is the mid-fifties, and it is the age of innocence - the ole swimming hole in a woodland setting in the middle of summer holidays. But within minutes, right on cue - would not you know it - a party of a dozen uniformed girl scouts, 18-year-old is, suddenly appear from the forest with their leader, a buxom, somewhat severe, 40s-something Melissa Haines.  
 
Girls and their leaders all completely uninformed, even down to berets, boys all naked as the day that they were born. Fasten your seat belts, friends. And look the other way if buff-naked male humiliation offends you because this is classic, old-time CFNM. And it is a true story - from a more bashful age - when nudity could still shock and embarrassed to the core.  
 
Here we go...  
 
Under her senior scout leader's beret, Melissa's beady eyes took in the scene. Four boys - wet torsos rising from murky water, hair plastered flat - stood immobilized, slack-jawed. They wore looks of astonishment, of fear. She took in the jumble of white T-shirts, jeans, Y-fronted underpants, and sand shoes strewn on the grass. Then the delicious fact clicked: beneath the water lapping at their navels these boys were buck-naked.  
 
Under the blouse of her khaki uniform, her ample middle-aged breast heaved. She licked her lips.  
 
"Girls, I think we've caught these lads swimming in the nude," she nearly panted. And at the words "lads" and "nude" she felt a spasm of excitement around her private parts.  
 
There was a collective intake of breath from the girls.  
 
In the pool, the boys remained frozen. Adding to the original expressions of surprise and fear looks of sheer guilt crept over their faces. They were in real trouble.  
 
"So," said Melissa. "Four boys caught in their birthday suits, eh?" A couple of the captives half nodded.  
 
Drawn up in the circle a dozen girls were confronting the possibilities - educational, erotic. To encounter a party of boys out here was exciting enough but in the raw! Nude! While they were all so tidily dressed in brown, pleated uniforms. With logos and official scarfs.  
 
Even in berets with medals.  
 
Brazen Tammy Smith gave a low, lubricious wolf whistle.  
 
The males felt hunted. They crouched lower.  
 
Worse, their anonymity was being stripped from them.  
 
Flaxen-haired, freckle-faced, Alice Jones gushed, "Look, there's Karen Smylie’s brother. Wait till I let her know! Her brother caught in the nude!"  
 
Gerry Smylie - short, blond - sunk up to his nipples. He went scarlet.  
 
My sister's friends!  
 
Trilled another guide, "There's Steve Speight! He is in the year ahead of me. Wait till all the girls at school hear!" Gangling, basketball champion Steve felt a queer weak feeling deep in his tummy. He was caught nude...by clothed girls. Something he had always...dreaded?  
 
Desired? Certainly, fantasized about it. Fantasy was one thing. Now it was happening in real life. He lowered his head to the water level and blew bubbles. The urgent panic he felt, the excruciating embarrassment, was having a strange effect. Maddeningly, between his legs, his dick, what everyone called his donkey dick, was starting to stiffen.  
 
Sally Pullen, brunette with dark daring eyes, glowed with pleasure.  
 
For years she and her sisters had been mocked by Alan Larsen’s, two years her senior. The neighborhood smart Alec, full of taunts. Always teasing her. A classic bully. Now his vein, good-looking head, with Elvis’s hairdo - she had to admit he was incredibly good-looking - was just out of the water...as he crouched clothes-free. She could not believe it: under the water, he had nothing on!  
 
Well, she never! Alan Larsen’s. Caught without a stitch. All his clothes were at her feet. In her power! Secure in her guide's uniform, she glared triumphantly. Their eyes locked. SHEET, he thought. Her - of all girls.  
 
The four boys were overcome by hopelessness. A thousand butterflies in each stomach. Also, a mysterious urgent pressure like they had had as kids when they had full bladders and had to hold it back. That sort of panic, right down to the penis. Especially Steve's, now at full length.  
 
Gloria Jenkins, a pudgy girl with glasses, raked the water surface with greedy - no ravenous - eyes. Her only glimpses of male nudity had been the marble statues of Greek gods and Michelangelo's David reproduced in art textbooks. How she had admired the chest, thighs, and muscular bottoms - but always feasting her gaze on those delicately shaped tubes of flesh in front of those little sacks. So delicate and decorative. Now she would see "the real thing." She felt a flutter.  
 
Milly Smithers had never seen a naked male. But she thought now, as she did under the blankets each night, of the young man walking along the beach promenade last summer. He was very athletic, with a flat stomach. In his wet, clinging swimsuit, there had been a big outline of something stretching. Something had been going on down there, she had thought. Her friends had seen it too with eyes as wide as saucers. Now with a bit of luck, the mystery would be revealed.  
 
Melissa was declaring, "Well, boys, it's time to teach you a lesson you will never forget. Heaven helps us if girls can't go for a hike without running into boys naked as jays."  
 
Girls giggled.  
 
"We'll have you out of there one at a time and give you a talking-to.  
 
Let us start with..."  
 
Her finger sketched the air and settled on...  
"...you! Red hair!"  
 
Rod Kelly. His over-large Adam's apple bobbed in and out with terror.  
 
Out of the water? With nothing on? Not a stitch? In front of all these girls his age?  
 
He knew his privates were unusual. The others had fears too. Steve was terrified of girls seeing his donkey appendage. Gerry knew his dick was just average enough to have these girls laugh and tell his sister! And Alan Larsen’s just did not want that Sally Pullen to see him!  
 
He had the littlest dick of all, and she was there, staring at him, just itching to feast her eyes on its dainty proportions. But Rod had even bigger fears on this front. He thought his genitals - cock and balls and the color of his pubic hair - were, well, the most unusual. They would be voted the funniest.  
 
His Adam's Apple went madly to work.  
 
"If you're not out of there quick smart," said Melissa. "We're going back to town - and taking all your gear with us. Explain that to Mom tonight!"  
 
With that she scooped up a pair of shorts and, hooting, the girls follow her example, scrambling for clothes and holding them aloft like trophies of war. Tammy held a pair of BVDs. "I wonder who belongs to these?" she squealed.  
 
Rod turned to his friends and said, “I think we're trapped."  
 
Alan Larsen was lost in his own terrors. Complacent in her uniform, Sally Pullen was staring hard at him, now wearing a cold, fixed smile.  
 
She had her enemy where she wanted him.  
 
"Aw, Miss," complained Rod. "It's not right."  
 
His voice was breaking with terror.  
 
"It's not fair. Some of them...some of them...know us!"  
 
It was a last throw of the dice.  
 
"Know you? Well, I do not think they are objecting. Are you girls?"  
 
There was a chorus of NOOOS!  
 
"Out of the water and up here now!"  
 
Slowly he rose from his crouch. His skinny, red-freckled trunk emerged from the water, then a slightly protuberant boy's tummy.  
 
There was a drawn-out delay. The expectations of a dozen keen girls tightened.  
 
Then his navel...and finally, thrillingly, red - violently red - public curls.  
And after another breathless delay, another nervous hesitation, dangling and dripping from his groin, a long, very slender penis, decidedly uncut - its head completely concealed by a tapering two-inch overhang of white foreskin twirling to a narrow opening. Behind the attenuated prick: a freakishly low-hanging scrotal sack with heavy rocks seeming to drag them down, one markedly lower than the other. Easy to understand why he did not want to show off his package.  
 
Their eyes were standing out on stalks as they goggled at the blushing, shuffling boy's privates - no longer private, of course, but revealed for public display. Like a swan's neck, thought Gloria. Or a skinny elephant's trunk, not like the neat petty things on her Greek statues or the splendid David in Florence. And it hangs halfway to his knees. Not a few of the young virgins wondered how something that terrifyingly long could "fit in." But it was very narrow, comically narrow.  
 
To Milly suddenly, some dirty playground talk made sense: "balls." So that is what it means, she thought, as her eyes devoured the boy's big marbles in the loose, capacious, hairless bag. She had never grasped it before now.  
 
Under their relentless gaze, Rod slightly staggered with shame, and moved one arm across his torso, a shy boy's gesture. His eyes were cast down. "Please Miss, can I have my clothes?" He raised his head and gestured at underpants being held by one girl, a shirt by another and pants by a third.  
 
Melissa pondered. The girls feasted their eyes.  
 
"No clothes yet" decreed the boss.  
 
A dozen girls beamed, and jostled one another to get a better look. And a dozen panties were getting distinctly wet. The wettest may have been those of pale, thin, bespectacled Emily Wainwright, standing with a boy's underpants. She never went swimming, never made a school formal, and never expected to go out with a boy. But from the first glimpse of those boys' torsos and that phrase "birthday suits" - what a thrilling idea that phrase conveyed - her hormones had been activated.  
 
She devoured Rod's clothless state, his shame. His shame was making her more excited. She felt extremely interested in the skinny redhead with the nervously bobbing lump in his throat and the curious equipment dangling from his groin. But loved the notion he was being "shamed" in front of her. What, she wondered, did it feel like?  
 
Meanwhile, Melissa was giving Rod an order. "Stand there, hands by your sides. And look at us - do not hang your head like that!"  
Each girl competed to catch his gaze. And it was Emily who won, his woeful eyes settling on hers behind her glasses. Perhaps because her plain features made her less threatening. Oh my God, she thought, a boy of my own. And with a newfound confidence, she looked right back at him, a naked youth. I will help "shame" the skinny redhead.  
 
Her imagination was racing, her panties dripping.  
Melissa swung back to the pool and pointed to Gerry Smylie. "You next!"  
 
The short boy with blond hair and a cute snub nose hesitated. His stomach turned over. But he slowly drew himself up. Moving almost imperceptibly towards the bank he revealed a gymnast's torso all the way to the navel and then, as he continued to move through the water, his tan gave way to a band of pure white...and a tantalizing glimpse of pubic bush, black not blond, and hanging from it a regulation-size, very white sausage...in front of a compact little sack, hardly noticeable. He was circumcised, which gave his ringside audience an immediate point of comparison with Rod. Then, when they had finished that, they could direct their wide-as-saucer eyes to the quite different scrotums.  
 
Gerry was standing next to his friend and being subject to the same inquisitional stares. He was very, very red. His humiliation was perfect.  
 
But it got worse.  
 
Said freckle-face Alice Jones, “Take a good look, girls. His sister is going to want to know all about this! She has never seen him naked. I asked her!" Like Emily she was excited by the fact a boy was not only remarkably interesting to look at but being shamed to the core.  
 
Her comment set off guffaws and even Melissa was forced to smile. Gerry's knees started to wobble with terror. He dreaded his sister knowing any part of this.  
 
To be continued