by Tesni Morgan
At last they arrived, swinging into a glade surrounded by trees. It was already prepared, with a big campfire in the center and cooking pots on tripods simmering over the embers. In the background were awnings. “These are your sleeping quarters,” said Matt while the passengers climbed stiffly out and stared around them.
“Where’s the toilet?” Joanna sounded desperate.
“Over that-a-way.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of thick bushes.
“Thank God! I’m bursting.” She headed for it.
“Me too.” Vicky followed her. “Coming, Carenza?” There was a narrow pathway between the undergrowth. “My God!” she shrieked. “It’s worse than bloody Glastonbury Pop Festival. Are we really supposed to use this?”
This consisted of planks stretched over a latrine dug in the soil. All very well done and sanitary and suitable for males, but females had a job balancing and squatting at the same time. As for relieving the bowels! There were several seats with central holes provided for this function but the whole thing was primitive in the extreme.
“Oh, well, here goes. I can’t wait any longer.” Joanna pulled down her pants.
“I thought they’d at least provide Portaloos, like they do at rock concerts and other outdoor entertainments.” Vicky did the same.
“I expect they wouldn’t have been able to get them here.” Carenza was trying to make the best of it.
“What about showers?” Vicky was appalled.
“I guess there are streams, and maybe a waterfall.”
“It’s too bad. I blame David. What a bastard! Putting us through this discomfort.” Joanna hoisted up her combats.
“Oh, come on. It could be fun.” Carenza adjusted her jeans and tried not to look down into the trench. So far, it hadn’t been used much, but later? It didn’t bear contemplating. The trouble was that they were all too used to modern plumbing.
By the time they got back to camp, everything was being offloaded, people were arguing over whose awning belonged to who, the cameramen setting up and the participants were viewing the cooking facilities askance. The orders were that those selected to be filmed should make meals in turn, using tins or whatever they were permitted to have and catching fish and finding fruit or berries to supplement their diet.
“Sod that for a lark!” Vicky commented, well out of Clem’s range. “I’d thought the caterers had come.”
“Oh, no, ducky.” One of the electricians paused from rigging the lights. “They’re looking after us at the hunting lodge, a couple of miles away.”
“You’re not camping?”
“Too right we’re not. Only you celebs are staying here full-time. When we’ve finished filming every night, we’re off to the lodge, where there are beds and baths, food and booze and TV and phones. And this applies to makeup, costumes, continuity, everyone except you lot.”
“That’s not fair. Does Laurette know about this cozy arrangement?”
He grimaced. “She does indeed, and there’s all hell let loose. But that’s the price of fame, I’m afraid. No pain, no gain.” One of his mates had shinnied up a tree, cables dangling. He went over to help him.
“I think David might have been more truthful,” grumbled Joanna.
“Oh, sod it, we’re here now and better make the best of it. I’ve done fucked off and come out the other side.” Vicky wasn’t at all happy.
“I don’t mind cooking.” Carenza attempted to calm them.
“But we’re supposed to take it in turns, and tidy the camp and wash up and do all those boring chores I manage to get out of at home. I’d better bid a fond farewell to my nails.” Vicky looked down at her hands ruefully.
Having been unloaded, the trucks were about to leave. “I’ll phone in if we need anything more or get into real difficulties.” Matt rested his bare brown forearms on the cab window as he talked to Fred. “If all goes according to plan, you’ll be here by the end of next week to pick up the pieces. Okay?”
“Okay, governor.” And Fred revved up his engine.
“Right, people.” Eddie clapped his hands to attract their attention. “Let’s get it in the can. You’ve just arrived and are settling in. You can bitch about conditions as much as you like. We want tension from the start.”
“You’ve got it!” Laurette tossed back her hair, eyes shooting sparks. “I’d never have come if I’d know it was going to be so grim. Not even a respectable shithouse!”
“That’s my girl.” Eddie grinned and hugged her. “Make the viewers sit up and take notice. We shall bleep out too much bad language, but you let yourself go, honey.”
“I’m not your honey.” And she pushed him into a thorn bush.
“God, what a drama queen!” Tommy Briggs was a stand-up comedian who had been roped into the expedition. “Steady on, girl, or you’ll bust a gut.”
“Who asked your opinion?” She swung ‘round on him. He was shorter than her and chubby, more the slapstick comic than sophisticated or satirical.
“Don’t be like that, Laurette, darling,” cooed Darrell Hogarth, cookery proponent who had his own popular program. “Think of the publicity! A teensy bit of discomfort is worth hitting the headlines.”
“Why do you think I agreed to take part?” Kieran O’Connor joined them, his black curly hair, sapphire blue eyes and beguiling brogue declaring his Irish origin. He had his own spot on morning television, chat host and housewives’ dream lover.
Laurette flashed him a smile, the first seen on her face that day. “We all know why we did it, darling.” She moved closer to him and ignored Darrell. “It’s up to us to make the most of it, don’t you agree?”
“My feelings exactly.” He was well aware of the cameras and not certain if they were running, but presenting his best profile, just in case.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m going to find the pool and take a swim. Care to join me?”
“Try and stop me.” He slipped an arm around her waist, his hand sliding down to cup her bottom.
Carenza wondered just how much of this foreplay the cameras were recording, and if it would be edited before going out on TV. It made her nervous, having that uneasy feeling that she was under surveillance like an animal in a zoo. Laurette didn’t seem to care, always the star, ready to expose her most intimate secrets just as long as she gained media attention.
Vicky and Joanna seemed happy, already selecting the men they intended to have sex with. Vicky was making a play for Clem, while Joanna had set her sights on Eddie. There was no one Carenza fancied, apart from David. Matt was there, but she didn’t want to go down that road again. He expected the camp to run like clockwork, turning the whole thing into a military exercise, but his kisses were impossible to forget.
Having got her bearings, she entered the awning assigned to her, finding that it was perfectly adequate. The sides were fastened down, giving privacy, and the floor spread with a tarpaulin. There was a mattress, already inflated, a sleeping bag and pillows and somewhere to store her belongings. A lamp swung from a pole and she was pleasantly surprised by the arrangements. Joanna and Vicky were positioned close to her, so that if anyone got night fright, they could bolt into each other’s temporary home.
“I can do this,” she said to herself, and started to unpack.
Darrell and Tommy were fussing with the fire, the cameramen were busy with their lenses, Eddie was marching up and down examining angles and Matt was issuing orders. Joanna raised a lazy hand in a wave as Carenza came into view. She was relaxing with her back against a tree stump, with Vicky beside her. Laurette had disappeared and so had Kieran.
Carenza found a path heading away from camp, following the sound of water. The woods closed around her, cool and refreshing. Birds fluttered on the boughs, not in the least afraid, and a cheeky gray squirrel was observing her passage, his tail whirling. Accustomed to city life, she found this utterly charming, a reminder of her childhood before her parents’ marriage fell apart. The water grew louder, and she came out on a ledge ab
ove a pool into which cascaded a sparkling falls. At first, she thought herself alone. Then she heard voices above the tumult and, looking down, saw Laurette and Kieran.
Carenza stopped dead, hidden by bushes, feeling very much the voyeur, watching the amorous couple. It excited her, nipples hardening, an ache in her clit, memories of David’s treatment returning on a wave of lust. Laurette was standing in the shallows, naked as nature intended, her hair plastered close to her head, water streaming all over her. Kieran held her in his arms, lifting her so that her legs were locked around his waist. He was bronzed and bare, moving her up and down on his penis, spearing her to the core while she cried out her passion. They were beautiful, like Adam and Eve before the fall or a pair of water sprites from the Greek legends. Carenza couldn’t stop feasting her eyes on them. She had never seen a couple making love like this. Vicky’s orgies had been crude by comparison.
What she was watching was incredibly sexy. The water made it impossible to see everything clearly, just fragmented images, shapes, movements and sounds, those ragged, breathless exclamations that proclaimed they were nearing climax. Carenza was wet between the legs, panty crotch dragged tight against her cleft. She wanted to finger herself and slipped a hand down the front of her jeans. Dear God! It was so good! Juicy, delicious, her clit and sex lips swollen. Kieran was speeding up. Laurette was mewling like a kitten, head thrown back, breasts pressed against his chest, one hand between her spread legs, stimulating her little organ.
Carenza was doing the same, rubbing herself frantically. The sensation started to build. It would be impossible to stem it. No matter who came upon her—even someone as embarrassing as Matt—she wouldn’t be able to stop. The couple in the water made more noise.
“Ah…ah!” screamed Laurette.
Kieran barked, jerked and came. So did Carenza, without the bark, biting it back. The tingling feeling rose and rose and she shut her eyes and went with it. She stood there afterward, her knees shaking, then turned and fled. The last thing she wanted was Laurette accusing her of spying, not that she wouldn’t welcome an audience, of course. Could it be that the cameras had recorded the episode? Carenza prayed that they hadn’t noticed her performance in the bushes!
* * * * *
Day Two, Carenza recorded in her journal. She’d been keeping one since her teens. It was useful to look back and see how much her opinions had changed. It’s kind of all right here, an exciting new adventure despite the latrine and lack of washing facilities and I slept well on the ground. I was half expecting, even maybe hoping, that Matt might try his luck again, but he didn’t. It’s strange of me to feel like this after having David, but I can’t help wondering about Matt.
When I got back from my walk and that’s a funny way of describing such a sexy experience, I found that a late arrival had joined our Happy Band of Pilgrims. He couldn’t get away before, apparently. He’s Phil Delaney, drag queen and confirmed gay, as camp as Christmas. He’s popular with the public and great fun. He didn’t complain half as much as Laurette and takes the piss out of her something rotten. This makes us even numbers, four men and four women, although Phil is betwixt and between. We ate around the fire and Darrell had prepared baked beans on rye bread. Not too much of a strain on his chef’s abilities. I must say, but he was full of his own cleverness, Tommy’s much more down to earth. It’s his turn to cook today, though Phil’s dying to have a go, but after breakfast Matt is taking us on an assault course. Sound horrendous.
Yet she was looking forward to it in a way, eager to test her endurance—and there was always Matt. Bossy though he might be, his know-how was to be admired and he would be an ideal companion if there were a disaster, natural or man-made. He knew exactly how to light a fire with the minimum of wood and matches, what berries, grasses and leaves to eat and where to find water. Later, he had promised to snare a rabbit, then skin and prepare it for the pot. Up until now, they were using canned food and powdered milk, tea bags and instant coffee and hadn’t yet been called upon to do anything arduous.
This altered dramatically when Matt lined them up, inspected their gear and made those who weren’t wearing the right footwear change into army boots. “This isn’t a Sunday-school picnic. We shall be crossing rough ground and water. I don’t want anyone lagging behind. And keep your helmets on. Don’t need head injuries. Get it?”
“Yes, sir!” they all shouted.
Matt formed them into a line and set off, taking a couple of his sidekicks and leaving Clem in charge of the camp.
“Where are the cameramen?” Laurette was peeved because makeup had applied cosmetics sparingly, with a “You’re supposed to look natural, Miss Upton, as if we haven’t been within a mile of you”.
Laurette had made a rude comment that involved the legitimacy of their births and the honors of their mothers. Now she sulked, forced to march along with the others. The camera crew were busy. Apparently, the course was already rigged for filming.
“Left, left, I had a good home and I left,” sang Tommy, as he swung along, giving “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary” as an encore. He was a genial companion on the whole, though sometimes displayed the manic-depressive that lay beneath the exterior of most comedians. He had already crossed swords with Phil.
The path descended sharply through dense woods. It was slippery and Carenza felt her way carefully. It had rained during the night and the leaves dripped, but she felt a frisson of excitement. It was like when she had played pirates as a child, always the tomboy, making up stories in which she was the dashing hero. But the reality was nothing as easy and her calves were beginning to ache.
“Blow this for a lark.” Vicky was speaking low. No way was she going to join the ranks of Laurette moaners. “I can feel a blister forming on my heel already. My feet weren’t designed for walking boots.”
“Come off it! What you mean is you weren’t designed for walking.” Joanna hefted her knapsack that contained essentials.
Matt was in the lead, loping down the incline, surefooted as a mountain goat. His aides hung back, ensuring that their charges weren’t in difficulties. The cameramen followed. They had already familiarized themselves with the route. When the group reached the bottom, they found themselves facing a barrier made of rope netting that they were ordered to climb. Matt went first, climbing over with ease. Carenza stood at the bottom, admiring his sheer physicality. Those strong arms, rippling shoulder muscles and powerful legs. Such perfection seemed wasted on this activity. She could think of far better uses. Carenza was stabbed with desire as she remembered his kisses and the way he had fondled her. But it would be so dangerous to her self-esteem if she permitted herself to entertain feelings for him. David had already warned her that he was a free spirit.
Kieran went next, wanting to draw attention to himself, very aware that this would be recorded for posterity. He did well, and the others cheered. Tommy had problems. He was short and overweight, but turned the whole thing into a joke, also keeping an eye on his popularity ratings. Darrell acquitted himself brilliantly. This wasn’t his first time and he confessed to working out regularly. Phil camped it up, although perfectly capable of managing it, a tall, agile person. Vicky and Joanna had a struggle to reach the top, and Carenza found it much harder than it looked. Laurette swarmed up it, though not before giving everyone a bad time.
There was a snag, however. They dropped down on a bank, facing a wide stream. Their task was to ford it, swinging across on a rope without falling in.
Matt was first over, showing them how and waiting on the other side to catch those who made it. Kieran, Phil and Darrell managed, and Tommy could have done so, but chose to fall in, drumming up laughs. He was hauled out, soaking. Laurette fell in too, and the water clung to her clothing and outlined her figure. Kieran rescued her and set her on dry ground, where she clung to him prettily and cried and had to take her jacket off to dry it out, displaying her wet vest. Her nipples stood out like organ stops.
How contrived can you get? thought
Carenza.
Vicky and Joanna had difficulty in swinging over and had to be helped. Then it was Carenza’s turn. She tried to remember how she had managed similar rope work in the gym at school. The way down seemed endless, though it was only a few feet. The water was murky and she could imagine the icy shock if she plunged in. The rope chafed her hands as she took a firm grip on it.
“Ready?” shouted one of Matt’s gang.
“As I’ll ever be,” she said and he shoved her in the back.
She was sailing over the water, arms nearly wrenched out of their sockets as they took her weight. Sweet Jesus! Help me! She prayed inwardly as the ground advanced rapidly and she dropped down, narrowly missing the edge.
She was gripped in iron arms. “Let go of the rope! I’ve got you!” And she collapsed against Matt’s rock-hard chest.
“Good girl!” He grinned at her. “I’ll make a commando of you yet!”
“I don’t want to be a commando.” She was angry because he had rescued her. She had so much wanted to prove to everyone, and him in particular, that she could do it on her own. But it was nice to cuddle into him, too nice, in fact. She could feel her antagonism wilting.
He stood her on her feet, made sure she was steady, then gathered them around him and issued his next command. They were ordered to struggle up a steep hill and, after taking a rest at the top, plunge down what was little short of a ravine. Following this escapade, they were allowed to wend their weary way back to camp, but no stragglers, no malingerers, just an orderly troop marching to base.
Everyone was too exhausted to complain, apart from Laurette who wanted out. “Don’t give up, girl.” Phil was as bedraggled and bone-weary as she, but determined to carry on. “Think of the publicity. It’ll go on for ages after we return to civilization. The spin-offs will be great.”
“I need a wash before anything else.” And she stomped off to the pool.
The rest followed and Carenza couldn’t wait to experience refreshing water on her bruised, aching body. She found a quiet corner behind some reeds, screened by a weeping willow tree. The others were not as shy, stripping and plunging in. Matt had assured them that the cameras were off. He stunned the women by appearing naked and unconcerned, swimming and splashing and, though keeping his aura of leadership, becoming much more human without his clothes. Carenza peeped before he immersed himself, wanting to fondle his firm buttocks and impressed by the length and thickness of his cock, even in repose. She recalled how much bigger it became when fully aroused and wanted to see this happen again.