No Safe Word in the Woods: Campfire Cumdump

A Boy, His Stepdad, and the Best Friend Who Couldn’t Resist.

The fire cracked loud, dry wood spitting embers into the night sky. I sat on a cooler, legs spread, nursing a beer I wasn’t supposed to have. Greg, my stepdad, tossed another log on the flames. The heat flared, lighting up his forearms, slick with sweat and soot. Beside him, Clay lounged in a fold-out chair, shirtless, thick arms crossed over his chest, a bottle of Jack dangling from one hand.

I was supposed to be asleep in the tent.

But I wasn’t.

“Didn’t think you could handle whiskey,” Clay said, nodding toward the bottle in my hand.

“I can handle a lot,” I shot back, letting my eyes drag down his chest.

His smirk said he caught it.

Greg chuckled, low and deep. “Boy’s been actin’ grown all weekend.”

“That so?” Clay leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know what happens to boys who act grown around men like us?”

Greg’s eyes flicked toward me. “They get reminded they’re still boys.”

I swallowed, but I didn’t look away. “Maybe I need that reminder.”

The air shifted. The crackling fire was the only sound between us. Clay stood first, towering over me. He reached down, slow, and cupped my chin, forcing me to look up at him.

“You got a smart mouth.”

“Sometimes.”

His thumb dragged across my lower lip. “Then you won’t mind if we shut it for you.”

Greg stood too. Bigger than Clay. Broader. His boots crunched the gravel as he came up behind me. I felt the weight of his presence, his heat, his breath, his want.

Clay grabbed the back of my neck. “On your knees.”