Copyright © 1997 and 2002, Phil Phantom

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.