S is for Spanking. Lucy Salisbury

with my mouth still full of come and thick, hard cock.

      Chapter Two

      I was glad to leave The Plough the following morning, as the entire incident was acutely embarrassing and not in a good way, although I did have Redbeard’s number tucked into my back pocket. Stacey agreed, and we settled up as soon as we’d finished our breakfast and called a cab. The driver had never heard of Camp Aspiration, but we finally managed to work out that it was what he called the old airfield, which didn’t sound particularly promising. It didn’t look it either, to judge by the high chain-link fence running through dense pine woods, or the ancient gate, complete with rusting red- and white-striped barrier and sentry box, outside which our own company minibus was just pulling up. They stopped and Daniel climbed down from the rear doors as Stacey and I got out of the cab. Beyond the gate a stretch of eroded tarmac ran between a pair of massive concrete blocks. A group of shabby wooden huts was visible in the distance and I found myself grimacing in distaste as I turned to the others.

      ‘Are you sure this is the right place? It looks pretty primitive.’

      Daniel pointed to a new and brightly painted sign which had been hidden by the minibus, stating that we’d reached ‘Camp Aspiration, Management Training Centre’.

      ‘It’s supposed to be primitive. They’re big on self-reliance.’

      He flexed his muscles and drew in a deep breath of air, then strode to the barrier and pushed down on the counterweight. Nothing happened, but he pushed harder and it finally rose with a rusty groan. I shared a despairing look with Stacey before we threw our bags into the back of the minibus and climbed in behind. Alastair was driving, with Paul slumped across a triple seat, fast asleep with his hands closed over his ample stomach.

      We drove in, with Daniel jogging alongside us, between the double line of huts to a crossroads with larger buildings to either side. Some were obviously disused, others freshly painted in a dull, dark green with white numbers or lettering that appeared to have been applied with a stencil, and suggested exactly the sort of pseudo-military attitude I’d been dreading. There was even an assault course, visible among the trees to one side, which looked as if it included water, mud and hair-raising apparatus. I hid a sigh as I climbed down to the ground, but the others seemed full of enthusiasm, except for Paul, who was still asleep. Alastair gave him a shove.

      ‘Wake up, Porkchop, you’re showing us up.’

      Another group had emerged from one of the buildings, grinning as they approached us. We exchanged greetings, all doing our best to show how energetic and confident we were. Paul hauled himself upright and tumbled out of the minibus to look around with an expression of open horror.

      ‘What the fuck is this?’

      One of the other group answered him, a tall, slim man with square shoulders, a crew cut and sunglasses.

      ‘Camp Aspiration. Hi, I’m Chad.’

      His accent was pure Midwest American and he’d extended a hand as he spoke. Paul ignored the offer, blinking in the bright sunlight.

      ‘I’m in fucking Alabama.’

      I’d shaken Chad’s hand myself so as not to give offence, but I could see he was less than impressed by Paul’s attitude. He carried on anyway.

      ‘Good to see you guys. We were the first here and there are two more groups to come, fifteen people in all, according to the roster. We’re going to be in four competitive groups, eleven guys and four gals. That’s Mess, the big hangar’s Assembly and the gym, we bunk as teams in the huts.’

      He’d been pointing to various buildings as he spoke, each of which was clearly labelled, as was a shower block and a general office, while another bore a large and rather worrying red cross. Paul spoke up.

      ‘Where’s the bar?’

      Chad answered him with open disapproval.

      ‘No bar. No alcohol.’

      Paul sat back heavily on the floor of the minibus, looking more horrified than ever. I found myself sympathising with him, and very glad indeed that I had Stacey’s company. Not that the others were entirely unappealing, at least to look at, but all the men seemed to have the same air of forced confidence I’d disliked in Mr Blue. Another minibus was approaching down the entrance road and I turned to greet the newcomers, three men and a woman with striking red hair. Chad seemed to have appointed himself group spokesman and did most of the introductions, which gave me a chance to wander off and look at the assault course.

      It was every bit as unappetising as I’d expected, with massive walls and complicated obstacles built of old railway sleepers, wires stretched between trees at dizzying heights, great nets made of rope and several deep pits filled with water and glutinous reddish-brown mud. Just to look at it made me feel cold, and scared, for all that I knew I could do it easily enough and possibly even without getting completely filthy. That at least I had school to thank for, while I’d also have Stacey with me, who’d been brought up on far worse.

      Nobody was paying any attention to me, so I moved deeper into the woods and around to the rear of the buildings. Those furthest from the centre of the camp were clearly abandoned, including concrete pillboxes long overgrown and surrounded by trees, shelters half hidden beneath the ground and the huts themselves. I decided to investigate the one nearest the gate, numbered as twenty-six, but in faded yellow paint rather than a smart new stencil. After pushing the door open with some difficulty I found myself in a long, arched room with a row of double bunks to either side. The windows were green with algae and had several broken panes, which had allowed a scattered drift of pine needles to build up on the bare, concrete floor, but it was still easy to imagine it in use. With six of the double bunks to either side there would have been twenty-four men, young, fit men.

      I let my mind wander, imagining myself as a local girl brought back to camp, drunk and happy and excited by so much male company. They’d have been nice boys, presumably, but maybe not too nice. Before long I’d have been teased out of my clothes, or perhaps found myself obliged to go nude as the loser in a game of strip poker. With that it wouldn’t have been long before their arousal got the better of their manners and inhibitions. I’d have found myself promising kisses, at which the bolder spirits would have taken the opportunity to stroke my bottom or touch my breasts.

      One of them would have got out his cock, demanding a toss, and I’d have given in, slightly frightened, not at all sure of myself, but very, very aroused. I’d do it on my knees, pulling him over my breasts, but before long I’d have been eased down to take him in my mouth. When they saw what a slut I was the last of their reserve would vanish. I’d be made to service them all, sucking cock after cock as I knelt on the hard, bare floor, or perhaps they’d spread me out on the bunk in the corner as they took turns with me, mounting me one after another until I was dizzy with sex and slippery with their spunk.

      It was a nice fantasy, and I moved to the window, wondering if I dared slip down my jeans and knickers to enjoy a hurried climax. Nobody was about, but then again there was no shelter at all. Anybody who walked in would be sure to catch me, which was going to make for a highly uncomfortable fortnight with a reputation as the girl who couldn’t resist frigging herself off ten minutes after turning up. It was better to wait, but the abandoned huts certainly offered some hope of private moments with Stacey, especially if we could find any deep in among the trees.

      I turned back towards the centre of the camp, but came to a stop as I saw the group. Another man had joined them, a man in loose-fitting white tracksuit bottoms and a pale-blue top that showed off his muscles. He also had a tracksuit top and a bright-red peaked cap, but there was no mistaking him. It was Mr Blue, and if that wasn’t bad enough he was carrying a clipboard and had a whistle around his neck, which seemed to suggest that he was an instructor. The blood had rushed straight to my face, but there was nothing I could do except continue walking as he led the others towards the Assembly building. I was the last there, and crowded in behind the others, to a big, square room with a wooden floor.

      There were no chairs, and Chad and