Scoutmaster's Wife

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Wife of scoutmaster allows a violation.
2k words
4.34
96.7k
65

Part 1 of the 3 part series

Updated 06/09/2023
Created 07/05/2018
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Magna12
Magna12
1,020 Followers

In my tween years, like many of you, I was a Boy Scout. Our troop went on a camping trip every month, and it was fun camping setting up tent camps and hiking in the woods.

One summer, we made a week-long camping trip to the mountains. This was a big project for the troop leaders, and our scoutmaster, Mr. McIntosh, brought along two other assist scoutmasters along with Mrs. McIntosh and the wives of the other men. The wives would stay in their own separate cabin and assist with meals and be backup for other needs that might come up.

These were the years of puberty for most of the boys, and there was often talk of girls and sex. Most of the talk was probably bad advice. But, we were of an age to notice and appreciate womanly developments in our female classmates and occasionally the virtues of older women as well. Mrs. McIntosh was a case in point.

She was the perfect older woman. At the time, I guess he was in her early forties, tall with jet black hair. Her breasts were larger than average, and her legs were shapely. That is, she showed off shapely calves and lovely upper legs that disappeared into her short pants. I loved being around her. She was kind and soft spoken and always had nice things to say to us. She was kind of the troop's mom.

I saw her a lot on that summer camping trip, and I would see her occasionally in the town where we lived. She always took time to ask me about my schooling and about my plans of the future. She was just one of those wonderful women who exude friendliness.

Years later I returned to my home town and would often cross paths with Mrs. McIntosh in the grocery store or on the street. Even though she was now in her mid-sixties, she retained her charms. Her personality was just as kind, and her shape was, if anything, even more striking. I was always pleased to see her, and I have to admit that she became a source of not a few fantasies that left me with a puddle of spew to clean up.

Once when we stopped to talk in the grocery store, I noticed that I could see some of her bra if I stepped to the side and took the right angle. She didn't notice my leaning to and glancing down at her cleavage, but maybe she was just being polite. She smiled and gave be a little kiss on the cheek as we parted, but that was typical of the warmth and trust between us.

Both of us volunteered for service on a community development committee, and I looked forward to seeing her regularly at the weekly meetings. Often, Mrs. McIntosh and I would stay afterward and talk about the issues or talk about old memories.

Her husband, my old scoutmaster, had developed difficulties walking after a stroke, and he was in a wheelchair and could not easily communicate verbally. My heart went out to her, and reliving old memories were a source of pleasure for her.

As the weeks went by, I became a bit more bold. After the meetings, I would insist on a hug and kiss on the cheek. Sometimes both cheeks. And after some time, I kissed her on both cheeks then gave her a tiny peck of a kiss on her lips. I worried about that, fearing that she might push back, but she took in in stride as just a normal part of our old friendship.

Obviously, she remembered me as a boy, and I assumed that our friendship was amplified by the fact that she saw me growing up and she trusted me, as the Boy Scout oath says, to help other people at all times and to keep myself physically strong, mentally awake and morally straight.

I'm not so sure she should have trusted me on that last point. After these parting hugs and kisses, and even before them, I could feel my cock stretch down my leg and begin to feel its dripping wetness.

It was after a committee meeting that things finally took a turn. Mrs. McIntosh and I got cups of coffee and stayed a while to visit. We sat in a side room of the county courthouse in simple straight chairs with our coffee cups on a little conference table.

She shared a bit about her home situation and the difficulties of caring for Mr. McIntosh. Then she brightened and began to tell me about her gardening this year. She had spent a lot of time outside creating beautiful flower gardens, and I enjoyed watching this absolutely lovely older woman whose face I had adored for so many years. Of course, my eyes darted from her eyes to her breasts to her knees and lower legs. Every chance I got, I would take in another part of her beauty and enjoy feeling my dick do a little dance.

That evening, Mrs. McIntosh wore a dress. Many times, she would be pants and a shirt top or wear a blouse and skirt combination. But in the summer warmth, she wore a light fabric dress belted at the waist and about knee length.

She reached into her purse and took out a small bottle of lotion, saying, "Those dang mosquitoes. They get me every time I get into the garden."

"Do you use insect repellant?" I asked.

"Oh yes, but it never seems to prevent a few from finding a fleshy part of me to taste," she replied.

We were sitting facing one another, a bit to the side of each other. Mrs. McIntosh dabbed the gel on her finger and touched a spot on the back of her arm. Then she looked down, "Oh dear, I have a bite under my knee, too." She turned her legs to the side and looked down.

"Let me," I blurted as I put gel on my finger. Mrs. McIntosh, trusting soul that she is, lifted her leg upward, sticking straight out. I inched my chair sideways and took her ankle on my hand, resting her outstretched leg on my lap.

"Is it behind this knee?" I asked.

"Yes, thank you," she said.

I had to bend down to see the spot, and as I did my eyes could see her long legs as the disappeared up her dress. There was nothing naughty to see, but I did appreciate Mrs. McIntosh's trust to allow me to touch her leg. I reached the underside of her leg and gently applied the gel.

I was holding her leg securely in place, and Mrs. McIntosh didn't seem to mind. We were sitting very close to each other, me facing her and practically at her side. Her leg propped up like this had caused her legs to part slightly.

We kept talking about her garden as I continued to gently swirl my finger behind her knee, as if rubbing the gel thoroughly into the skin.

She didn't seem to mind. She maintained her normal confident and kind look on her face. Smiling and looking thoughtful at times as she spoke.

"Remember that scout camping trip to the mountains?" I asked.

Those memories always made her happy, and her face glowed as the memories returned. Perhaps it was her joy that diverted her attention from my hand moving slowly up her outstretched leg. As she talked, and as I listened with a smile on my face, she lowered her leg off my lap. But my hand remained under her dress and a few inches above her knee.

Now, I was vexed. I knew that if I simply removed my hand, all would be well, and we would part in the friendly way we always did. Should I risk that stable friendship and press my luck? My hand was already, by her invitation, resting on the inner side of her leg, and my fingers were starting walk very carefully toward her sweet pussy.

I ceased, but I left my hand in place.

We continued to recall scouting memories, and I gripped her leg, "I'm sorry," I said to her, "I hope that was okay."

Mrs. McIntosh just gave a tiny laugh and said, "Oh sure."

I took her response to mean that what I had done was okay, but she gave no approval for any further intrusion. It was time for me to either withdraw and be a good boy or to take charge and see how close I could get to her pussy. No doubt, I thought, at the top of her legs were lovely jet black ringlets concealing her slit. I had dreamed of seeing it for so long, and now I let my dick take over and tell me what to do next.

I resumed my very subtle finger movements, softly letting my fingers trace little circles on her inner leg, gently rising a few centimeters, gradually seeing my arm disappear farther under her dress.

I stopped a moment and asked, "Did you have other insect bites we need to treat?"

"Oh, no, but thank you," Mrs. McIntosh answered. And she went on talking about this and that as if she didn't feel my fingers walking like a tiny spider up the inside of her leg. By now I was about half way between her knee and her pussy.

Perhaps she trusted that I was only trying to make her feel comfortable and that I would surely remove my hand soon. Perhaps she enjoyed the sensation and was too shy to say anything. Perhaps she was about to slap me. Anything was possible, I suppose.

I took over the conversation and recalled a long story about her husband and the scouts. She listened with the most pleasant expression on her trusting face as I spoke and as my fingers continued their march to the upper inside part of her leg. Often, women are very ticklish here, and I was very gently letting my fingers feel their way and dragging my fingernail across her skin so she could feel the softness of my fingertips alternating with the harder more intentional feel of a nail.

I could not believe that my touch was so close to Mrs. McIntosh's private area and still we were conversing as if nothing of the sort was going on. Either she was oblivious or she was an excellent actress.

Finally, as I spoke to her, "Your husband was a wonderful man," at that moment I felt the softness of her silky panties. My finger bumped just slightly against the farthest upper reach of her leg. I could feel her other leg come together and measure the panty-covered gap between them.

I spoke again, "Yes, I always thought Mr. McIntosh was a lucky man," as I let two fingers bump up against her panties and push very gently to feel the springiness of her pubic hair behind the silk.

She had to be feeling this, I thought, but she gave no indication. Mrs. McIntosh responded to my words and confirmed that her husband was a wonderful man, and they she told me a story about how he used to date her sister.

By now, my fingers had bounced off her panties several dozen times, making gentle contact, and I let the back of my fingernail trail her slit from south to north until I located the parting cleft at the top of her pussy. Certainly, it if touched her clit she would flinch.

But, to my amazement, Mrs. McIntosh kept talking, sometimes looking me right in the eye and sometimes looking away as she spoke. I was in a fantasyland of delight, so transgressive with my right hand while my left hand had taken Mrs. McIntosh's hand. We held hands while I diddled her and while she told me stories about her husband.

Just when I thought about pulling her panty aside and making a direct assault into her pussy, Mrs. McIntosh stopped talking. She leveled her gaze into my eyes and asked, "Are you having a good time?"

In response, I allowed myself the liberty of pressing a finger on the outside of her panty and inserting myself about a half inch deep into her crease, and I answered her, "I think I'm about to."

Magna12
Magna12
1,020 Followers
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7 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousover 1 year ago

Superb, very stimulating

AnonymousAnonymousalmost 3 years ago

hope it is true .

What happened next

chytownchytownover 4 years ago
Good Start***

Thanks for sharing.

AnonymousAnonymousover 5 years ago
regrets

I always regretted the only married woman I slept with. My best friend's wife. To this day he hasn't found out. Now we are aging and guilt piles up. Maybe soon he should know. Aparently hes a better friend than I am to him. Good story though, it stirred me deeply.

Greyman01Greyman01over 5 years ago
And....?

And then ......?

Nicely done but it’s a bummer to be left hanging! Would love to hear the rest of the story.

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