S is for Spanking. Lucy Salisbury

the assault course. That only went so far to reduce the embarrassing ritual of visiting the showers, made worse because I’d expected a private bathroom and decided to sleep in panties and a top rather than a proper nightie or PJs.

      Breakfast was served in Mess, with the sun still only just up, and followed by a parade, with the four teams now stood separately, each with the leader to the right and a little in front. We were team A, just as Juliette was Girl A, with three all-male teams stood beside us. It was obvious at a glance how Parker had divided us, and who he expected to win, and to lose. Team B included Alastair Renton and three other competent young men, but it was clear that Team C were intended to be the cream, with just three members, including Chad as team leader, Daniel Chambers and Roy Karsen, who looked like Captain America but didn’t seem to speak much. If Team C were the cream, then Team D were the dregs. The leader was Graham Boothe, a big, awkward man who seemed to be all legs and arms, another man who was not only the shortest but the oldest among us all, a boy who looked like Billy Bunter and, inevitably, Paul Yates.

      The temptation to step out of line and ask Parker whether he felt that classic bullying tactics were appropriate for a management course was considerable, but I knew he wouldn’t understand, for all that the answer was undoubtedly yes. I didn’t have the guts anyway, but stood as before, as smart and as compliant as could be, answering to ‘Girl O’ despite the sense that I was being somehow molested every time he said it, then bracing my feet apart and holding my hands behind my back just like the others as he began to tell us what the day had in store.

      ‘It’s a simple test, of fitness, stamina and, of course, teamwork. Each team will be issued a map and a compass. You will then be driven to a base camp and given a set of field co-ordinates, which I will tell you – in case Team D decides they mark the local pub – is a tor near the third highest peak on Dartmoor. You need to get there as fast as you can. Hidden among the rocks is a jar. In the jar are twelve numbered balls. The number on the ball you take is your score for the exercise and Sergeant Reynolds will be up there to make sure there’s no monkey business. The team with the highest aggregate score gets a bonus of twelve points, equally divided between them. The team with the lowest aggregate score gets a penalty of twelve points, just the same. Got that?’

      As Chad and others barked out their answers I was suffering from a sinking feeling. The exercise meant a long, hard day, aching muscles, mud and scratches, not at all my idea of entertainment. Not only that, but the outcome was more or less foreordained. Team C would not only win but with just three members they would gain an unfair benefit from the scoring system. Team B would come in behind them, then us, and last of all Team D, which made the whole thing futile. Stacey was keen though, and determined that we should do our best, so I kept my thoughts to myself as we got ready and drove out to a car park beside a reservoir in the middle of a vast forestry plantation. One glance at the map showed that the situation was worse than I’d thought, with miles of rough, boggy ground to cross, most of it steep. The others obviously had no such qualms, even Juliette and Wendy caught up in the moment, so I swallowed my feelings and joined them as they clustered around our map and Stacey worked out the co-ordinates.

      ‘We’re here, in Fernworthy Forest and our objective is here, Fur Tor. That’s about seven K, as the crow flies. So let’s go.’

      She set off at a jog and the rest of us followed, quickly overtaking Team D, who knew where they were going but didn’t look too happy about it, and leaving the others still studying their maps. I couldn’t help but smile as I saw that Juliette was doing her best to outrun Stacey, who responded in turn. Wendy and I were soon well behind and I kept pace with her just to be friendly, running between ranks of tall pines and clearings of freshly cut stumps and broken wood. The sun was well above the trees in a clear blue sky, while the air was gloriously fresh and carried a faint tang of pine resin, all very lovely.

      Left to my own devices I’d have spent the morning walking and enjoying my thoughts, perhaps even found a quiet place to strip off for the sheer joy of being in the nude, or to bathe in one of the little streams that ran down to the reservoir, a prospect that made me all the more resentful of Parker and his pointless exercise. I was getting hot too, my thighs already aching as I pushed myself up one slope after another, and by the time I reached the stone wall that marked the edge of the forest I was forced to stop to catch my breath, while my hair was wet with sweat and my top plastered to my breasts.

      Wendy was no better and we shared a rueful grin as we sat down together at the top of a big wooden stile. Beyond was bare moor, stretching up to a line of big open hills, with Stacey and Juliette visible a good half-mile ahead, like two little dolls with their black ponytails bobbing behind them. Some of the men were also visible, but they’d taken a different route through the forest and were some way to the north, too far to be sure who was who, although I could recognise Chad’s cries of encouragement to his teammates. To the south the ground sloped down to a broad valley speckled with sheep and cattle, some of which were being herded by a man on a quad bike, presumably a farmer.

      ‘That’s the way to travel.’

      Wendy’s thoughts echoed my own, and I immediately found myself wondering if the scheme was practical. Parker hadn’t said anything about how we got to our objective, and it struck me that borrowing a quad bike would be showing initiative rather than cheating. Getting the farmer to lend it to me was another matter, but that sparked another thought, a very naughty one. One of my favourite fantasies had always been to find myself in a situation in which I had no choice but to hitch a lift and was made to pay by sucking the driver’s cock. Usually I imagined myself ending up penniless in somewhere like Italy or Turkey, and having to pay my way across the width of Europe with some bastard who liked to come three or four times a day and insisted on making me swallow. The situation with the farmer and the quad bike wasn’t as good as that, but it had the great advantage of being real, and attainable. It had the disadvantage that sucking a farmer’s cock in return for a lift wasn’t going to do much good for my precious reputation, but that was only a problem if I got caught, which begged the question: could I trust Wendy? I decided to test her.

      ‘Yes, but I can guess what he’d expect in return for a lift, let alone borrowing the thing.’

      She giggled, which meant she knew what I meant and wasn’t as sweet and innocent as she looked.

      ‘Pussy as currency.’

      Her voice was soft, wistful even, and I found myself slightly shocked, for all that I’d been thinking almost exactly the same thing.

      ‘You bad girl!’

      She’d gone pink, but she’d caught the tone of my voice just as I’d caught hers, and went on.

      ‘We haven’t any money, so what else are we supposed to pay with?’

      I nodded, then swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. Maybe it comes of living a secure life, maybe it’s the way I can’t help but link sex and shame, but I’ve always found the idea of having to prostitute myself appealing. Wendy seemed to be the same, but I wasn’t sure how far she’d go.

      ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

      ‘Would you?’

      I made a face at her. She’d put the ball straight back in my court, neither of us wanting to be the first to admit to being capable of actually doing anything so inappropriate.

      ‘We could always ask. Maybe he’d be nice about it, or maybe …’

      She smiled as I trailed off, perhaps thinking the same as I was, that maybe he was the sort of dirty bastard who’d put us on our knees together, side by side as we worked on his cock and balls with our mouths and lips and tongues. Without speaking again we climbed down the stile and ran on, angling down towards the valley. I wasn’t sure what I was doing, let alone if I would dare to actually proposition the farmer, with or without Wendy there, but even to be heading towards him felt brave and naughty, a pleasant combination after my earlier feelings.

      We soon lost sight of the men, then of Stacey and Juliette, with the flank of the hill sheltering us from the high ground. I was half hoping the farmer would drive away in a different direction, allowing me to escape my decision without losing face