Henry Morgan - The drivers

"When they were finished, he said, they would pass me on to some other drivers who knew how to treat a bitch like me. Then they fucked me a few more times and made me have them in my mouth until they were finished."

She stopped there and held out both her arms to study the scars, rubbing her hands around the worn red groove. When she had finished with them she rubbed her ankles and Peter saw that they too, bore the same marks.

"After that," she said quietly, "they took some rope and tied my hands and feet together then hung me like a hammock in the back of the lorry, driving me up and down the motorways, naked, swinging away while the ropes burnt into my skin, taking me down only when they wanted to empty their balls."

She finally needed the handkerchief, burying her head in its protective folds to shut out the shame.

"They kept me like that for over a week, using me for all sorts of dirty practices, pushing the handles of tools up me, or making me masturbate on the gearstick while they watched. If I refused to do anything they would strap me with a hauliers belt, that's a favourite of all the Drivers. A few strokes from one of them and you'd fuck the Household cavalry if they told you to. But they got careless. Lincoln had gone to see some bloke about passing me on in return for a young hiker he'd picked up near Coventry. While he was gone Colin had taken me down and had me suck his dick, ready to fuck me. When it was hard he told me to get on my knees and spread them. He was actually up me when Lincoln came back and told him to get his prick out of there and come and take a look at the tight young split in the other rig.

"There was a group of Drivers all taking it in turns with the young girl on the other side of the car park. He was so anxious to get in on it he forgot to check the knots."

"The police?"

She shook her head.

"No?"

Melanie laughed, a slow scornful laugh.

"Oh, I told them alright, but all I got was I must be incredibly naive to go off with two drivers on such a long trip, or else I felt so guilty about having it off with the two of them I was out to make trouble."

She saw the hurt he was suffering and felt guilty for telling him everything, maybe she should have left some of the more sordid details out… Melanie did the only thing she knew.

"Come here," she murmured, and with an outstretched hand pulled his head down to hers. It had been a long time since Peter felt the comforting touch of a woman's lips. Even with the taste of alcohol and tobacco on her mouth, he sensed in her a kindness denied by her lifestyle, a life ruined by the excesses of two men. But it was wrong, Susan was out there somewhere, perhaps hanging in a cab, stripped and used. Guilt flooded his mind and he withdrew.

"No," he told her. "I can't".

She smiled at him. Even when she had made her intentions obvious, he had thought of his wife.

"You know," she said to him. "You certainly make a change from most of the men that come here. I'm usually arse up over the settee in two minutes, but you, you're something else." She reached out and brought his hand to rest on her breasts. They were larger than Susan's, fuller and heavier, and the sight of them brought strong feelings to his groin. He was a man after all, with natural needs and desires.

The bedroom felt damp and smelled of too many nights of sex and not enough open windows.

"Follow me," she whispered, taking up his hand.

On the mattress the red nylon sheets lay in a crumpled mess while the pillows had disappeared between the wall and the headboardless bed. Melanie made a cursory attempt to tidy the sheets then dropped the kimono from her body to stand for his inspection.

Without her tarty clothes she had a fine body. Only the poorly bleached hair and the tattoo of a skull in a biker's helmet between her navel and the top of her pubic triangle hinted at what she had endured.

Peter woke to the sight of Melanie's bottom wobbling in time to the stroke of her arm as she cleaned her teeth. The bathroom door was open and the naked woman was up and about her business without any apparent affects from the previous night's activities. She took a glass of water to rinse her mouth then spat the excess paste into the sink and squatted on the loo.

"Good morning," she said, seeing he was awake. "I didn't mean to disturb you. You looked so peaceful." She tore a piece of tissue from the roll, lifted one leg and dabbed herself dry. "Do you want some breakfast?"

Peter climbed from the well worn rut in the centre of the bed and searched the floor as Melanie made her way through to the kitchen, the faded kimono once more wrapped about her. "Thanks," he said. "You haven't seen my trousers have you?"

Through the spit of the frying bacon he heard her shout "behind the chair, where you threw them last night."

He remembered now, how quickly he was out of his clothes once the guilt had been overcome. How he'd hopped about the room trying to release his stubborn foot from a trouser leg before joining her on the bed to feast in the pleasures of her body. He'd revelled in the tasting of the familiar oily slick that would allow his cock free and easy passage between silky slats and the wet velvety tube beyond.

Her response had not been the usual cold tolerance she gave to the faceless men who humped away at her nightly, leaving her to tug up her knickers after half a dozen strokes of an alcohol soaked semi erect penis. She had been hungry and eager, wanting pleasure and to please, to comfort and to be comforted, and throughout they had done just that, more like long time lovers than the relative strangers they were.

"There you go," she said cheerfully. "Bacon and eggs. It's been a long time since I made a bloke breakfast! I've made plenty of suppers, but not many breakfasts."

After breakfast and the walk back to the pub to pick up the car, Melanie kept her promise to show Peter the way to Lincoln's depot. It was a couple of miles away and Melanie made it quite clear on the drive over that she would not go anywhere near the entrance. Peter agreed and brought the car to a halt several units away from the Felix Ferry yard, collecting his camera from the boot before setting off towards an area that overlooked the depot.

Melanie followed tentatively behind, unaware that Peter had no idea what to do next.

The pair of would-be investigators crouched and waited behind a rubbish skip, peering as best they could the hundred yards or so into the Felix lorry depot. Occasionally Peter lifted the heavy camera to his eye, focusing the telephoto lens onto the large foreboding DAF waiting in gleaming, polished splendour, outside the tin sheeted warehouse.

"Well?" he asked. "What do you reckon?"

"That's Lincoln's truck alright. He always drives the latest model they've got." She pointed to a car parked a short distance away. "And that's his car."

Then he came, the devil in a fork lift.

A girl was walking, half naked and bound with hauliers straps so tight and encompassing she was forced to hobble to prevent herself falling over. Confirmation enough! Peter raised his camera and fired off several quick shots while Melanie cowered beside him.

"What's he doing?" he asked her.

"Once they get their claws into someone they don't let go. She's going to be his bunk warmer until he's finished with her."

The powerful camera lens rested on Lincoln, bringing him into sharp focus. He was non descript, plain and unassuming, as such people often are. But he was very powerful. Peter would have no chance against him.

The camera lens along the strap to the young girl bound at its end. She was an Oriental, perhaps Chinese, small and neat and very young, perfect little breasts beneath the thin white jersey she wore. On her tiny feet white plimsolls completed the only clothes she had left, or she was naked from the waist down, revealing perfectly formed and exotically tinted legs that were perfectly formed.