She came walking out of the forest like a grown up Girl Scout. Her dark brown, button-up shirt hugged her ample chest tightly and her olive green shorts landed just above her knees.
By Cara Bruce
One Sexy Scout
By Cara Bruce
She came walking out of the forest like a grown up Girl Scout. Her dark brown, button-up shirt hugged her ample chest tightly and her olive green shorts landed just above her knees. She was a forest ranger. Behind her was a small team of students, watching with intense admiration as she lifted her sculpted arm and pointed out various specimens of leaves and trees. I wondered if she knew about nuts and cones and things like that, or if she was a woman more into juicy berries and pretty flowers.
Her tour was ending and the group was fast approaching the Visitors' Center. I rose from the bolted down park bench and headed towards the tiny hut.
She was answering the last few questions outside of the Center, pointing convincingly to the laminated map. I stood there in awe of the way the sunlight played on her auburn hair. She was pretty, in that natural sort of way, but what really got me were the state-issued knee socks that traveled down rounded calves and ended in those clumsy, mud-covered hiking boots. Rugged, sexy, and innocent -- all at once.
"Did you have a question?" she asked me.
"I was just wondering when the next tour was." I smiled. Of course I didn't really care about the foliage of Northern California, but if she would give me a private lesson about the birds and the bees, then that was something else entirely.
"There are no more tours this afternoon." She looked sad, like she was personally responsible for my lack of woodsy education.
I kicked a few leaves and looked down at the ground, pouting my lips and saying, "Damn, I was really hoping to get a tour, I have to go back home tomorrow and this is my last chance." It was a lie. I felt guilty. But it worked.
She looked up at the sky, the majestic Redwoods towering above us, she appeared concerned, upset, like she didn't know what to do. She was conscientious, caring, she wanted me to know exactly what sort of tree it was and exactly what it did for the entire ecosystem. I thought of telling her what she did for my ecosystem but decided I ought to wait to make sure she was actually a part of the same species.
"I guess I could take you," she said, as I smiled like a bear in a honey pot. I wanted to take her hand and clasp it tight. I began having flashbacks to my own Brownie days. The shit brown tunics with sashes that cut through the space of not-yet-existent breasts, and of course, the knee socks. I smiled at her and caught her eye. She looked back at me and hesitated, suddenly wary of disappearing into the woods with this crazed cunt-hungry tourist.
We went anyway. I admired her for that. A fearless leader.
She began her spiel about the woods, about old growth, the necessity for fires, for burning away the underbrush so they didn't choke off that which was already there. I tried to listen, really I did, but when she began talking about bushes and petals, my attention wandered to more natural concerns.
I think she could feel my thoughts and we meandered along in silence for a while. Our arms brushed lightly against one another and I stopped to tie my shoe. She waited, patiently.
"Look at this," she said, bending down and gently fingering a small violet.
"It's beautiful, like you," I said. She blushed crimson and I took full advantage of the opportunity. I leaned over and kissed her, probing every nook and cranny of her mouth with my tongue, as she stood, suddenly shy. But my trail ride wasn't over. had just begun to explore the paths I was most interested in and I wasn't letting her go. Her breath quickened and I gently pushed her against the tree. The cheap buttons of her California Forestry shirt looked about to pop and I thanked the heavens for government spending. I pulled, not too hard, and the nylon shirt split wide open.
"My uniform," she said. I thought about answering her but my mouth was busy on her tit. Her concerns about the shirt gave way to concentration on the shorts, which were quickly being unbuttoned. I was sure I was going against every single regulation but I didn't care. This ranger was going to get her own private tour of the intricacies of all five of my fingers. I parted her big hiking boots with one push of my foot and lodged my knee into the crevice of her canyon.
The shorts came down and I was on my knees in a bed of pine needles, my face framed by those ever present brown socks. Her pussy smelled like fresh air and I knew I wanted to be the troop leader. I decided to let my tongue do the talking. I dove in, making smaller and smaller circles until I was practically biting her clit, fucking her with my face. She arched against the peeling pine, thrusting her crotch deeper into my mouth. I went for it. Giving her my right hand one finger at a time. Her hot cunt clenched around my hand, my fingers enveloped in her wetness. She moaned and quivered, searching for a branch, some bark, anything to hold onto. My face was soaked and she was spouting the names of all the trees in the forest. I felt her tense, clench, and relax. She slumped down onto me and I held her, my sexy scout, all fucked and pretty in the most natural way.
This story was first published in "Uniform Sex," edited by Alyson Books.