drink at a gulp and walked out even as the landlord told him he was barred, which left me trying to assure four men and Stacey that everything was alright.
It wasn’t. I felt guilty, both for the way I’d reacted, which wasn’t really fair, and for the way everybody else had turned on Mr Blue. Stacey and I had been flirting, and even if he’d overstepped the mark he hadn’t deserved his face slapped and the very public humiliation of being thrown out of the pub. I wanted to apologise, and I felt drunk and off balance too, so pretended I was in need of a trip to the Ladies and then slipped outside. It was dark, with a single yellow light illuminating a double line of cars and trees showing black against a starry sky beyond. There was no sign of Mr Blue, save possibly a pair of red tail lights moving away down the lane, but the fresh air was very welcome indeed.
I walked to the end of the car park, where an ancient and wheel-less Volkswagen camper van had been left to rust beside the hedge. It gave me the shelter I felt I needed and I propped myself against it, drinking in the cool, clean air in an effort to clear my head, only to jump at the sound of approaching footsteps.
‘You OK, love?’
‘Yes, really …’
It was Redbeard the Pirate, who’d been among the men keen to take my side. We spoke for a moment, and there was no mistaking his desire for me. I half wanted to give in, but couldn’t overcome my own ill feelings for what had just happened until he put an arm around my shoulder, an arm like a tree trunk. I stiffened automatically, but only for an instant before I’d allowed myself to be gathered in against his chest. He began to talk, in a rumbling bass, attempting to comfort me with clumsy words that I barely heard. Yet I couldn’t help but react to his touch, my body trembling badly, and it was just too easy to accept the comfort of his arms.
I could feel a hard bulge swelling against my belly even as he assured me there was nothing to worry about. Had he simply taken me then and there I wouldn’t have resisted. My defences were down and I was drunk and horny, as well as feeling guilty for being a tease, and he was so very obviously turned on. Yet I knew that it would have to be me who made the first open move. I didn’t say a word as I slid his zip open, nor as I went down on my knees to pull out his cock, straight into my mouth. He reacted with a low moan, but accepted his tribute, letting me suck as he leant back against the side of the camper van. The feel of his cock in my mouth was more comforting than anything, at first, but as he began to stiffen up I was getting increasingly eager. My hand went up my dress and down the front of my panties as I began to masturbate him into my mouth.
His hand settled on the back of my head, to take me gently but firmly by the hair, holding me in place. I had no intention of stopping, but it felt nice, a big, strong male hand to make sure I gave my blow job properly. He’d already begun to groan, and I began to rub harder, my fingers bumping over my clitoris as I sucked and licked and kissed at his straining erection, trying to be a good girl for him but determined to keep him back from the edge until I too was ready to come. Only when I felt my cunt begin to tighten did I take him deep in once more, as far as I could, deliberately squashing his helmet into my throat to make myself gag, a gloriously dirty thing to do and one with inevitable consequences. I felt his grip tighten in my hair and he gave an urgent grunt, jamming his cock yet deeper into my throat as he came. Spunk erupted into my gullet and I was struggling to swallow and delighting in my own filthy behaviour as I brought myself to a long, hard orgasm 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
