Henry Morgan - The drivers

The men appeared quite oblivious to any embarrassment felt by the girls, treating them purely as livestock, concerned only with making the right purchase at the right price. For some of them it was just a job, buying stock for the more affluent or better known who were unable or unwilling to attend in person.

Peter recognised the beautiful red haired girls he had seen earlier in the day, penned together. Amazingly a rosette was pinned to their enclosure as a prize for the best turned out stock, alongside details of their age and information on their origin in Kerry county, Eire.

Peter was enthralled by their beauty and spent some time observing their actions. Both girls lay across bales of straw, totally aware they were on display and using their considerable charms to ensure only the richest could afford them. It was the intelligent thing to do, after all. A rich master could well be as cruel as a poor one, but at least your suffering would be endured in luxurious surroundings.

Probably they didn't know about the Arabs.

The naked girls were a feast for Peter's eyes and he ate hungrily. All around him lay naked females, there to buy and take away. For a while he lost himself to his thoughts and felt the tell tale rise in his trousers. He made a fist and dug it into his leg trying to hurt himself, ashamed that he should find such pleasure in the hopeless predicament of the captured women.

Only the sight of the young Chinese girl he had seen with Lincoln was able to snap him out of his trance.

She was attracting a lot of attention, many hands were upon her.

She was tied to a post with a stick behind her arms that thrust out her neat little breasts, and one leg was tied up in the air like a dancer high kicking, almost at right angles to the loose one that a man was running his hands up and down, all the way. She must be incredibly supple, he thought, maybe from some circus or other, although sweat gleamed on her smooth skin and the way all her muscles twitched and her dark eyes were screwed up with tears overflowing showed that she was either in agony or dreadfully repelled by her lewd handling.

It was the tears that attracted the crowd to her as much as her perfectly formed little body. And her pathetic whimpering was a good reason for not gagging her. Peter wondered how long Lincoln had left her like that. And how much longer she would be left there. A long time, he thought. It was probably putting up her price very nicely.

Whatever her history, she seemed to attract cruelty like a magnet…

Peter's heart jumped a beat when he heard a broad Irish voice approaching, and he stepped hurriedly back, hoping to lose himself amongst the punters crowding in.

"Oi, Lincoln. How much you after for the Chink?"

Moving backwards in the throng, Peter felt a sudden solid bump against his back, stopping him in his tracks and forcing the people around him to stumble sideways. Trying to remain innocuous he turned to say sorry, only to look straight into the eyes of the one man he was desperate to avoid. Before he had time to react Lincoln placed a large hand on his shoulder with no hint of recognition, pushed himself away and apologised for bumping into him.

His attention was not there.

"Got to do a bit of business," he said. "In a hurry, sorry mate".

Peter managed a nod and a smile and melted into the crowd, peering between the heads of two onlookers as Lincoln jumped the railings of the pen and pulled the girl over to the man who had enquired of her purchase.

"Have you put a reserve on her?" the man asked.

"Now I'm not going to tell you, am I?" grinned Lincoln. "If you want to keep her out of the sale, make me an offer."

The man ran his hands up and down the young Chinese girl's legs as Lincoln held her out. Satisfied, he next checked her feet and then her teeth.

"She looks in great shape," he said. "I could do with an Oriental piece for my house, it gives the customers a bit of variety." He bent the girl over and checked her genitals were clear, then he ran his hand over her tits, squeezing her nipples as if trying to make them stiffen.

"They're awfully small tits," he told Lincoln. "Most of my clients like a girl big up top."

"She's a Chink," said Lincoln. "What do you expect? Tell you what though, she's great to beat, so sensitive, you should see how she reacts, plenty of your customers would enjoy beating her, I'll bet. Or you could put on a show."

"Once a week?" said the man scornfully.

"Twice nightly," said Lincoln. "She's tougher than she looks, believe me."

He took the girl into his arms, smacking her pert little arse none too gently and ignoring the new tears in her shining black eyes.

"Well?"

"You sure she can do a show twice nightly?

"No sweat!"

"She better be good!"

"You can take it out on her if she ain't."

"You better believe it!"

"Stand back, then, and I'll show you."

Contributed by Rex Saviour, author of our book ERICA, PROPERTY OF REX and the story ROBIN, PROPERTY OF OGOUN (in the 3-in-1 special BOUND FOR GOOD) and BALIKPAN 1 (њ10 – mail order only)

The first thing Lincoln did was to clear a space around himself and the girl. It wasn't easy, for they all the assembled Drivers wanted a good grope of her: they were all thoroughly aroused by now and knew she would feel good: the way she shrank from their touch was an added turn-on. She seemed to have a dread of being pinched. It was not one of Lincoln's more endearing traits so far as women in his power were concerned.

"Stand back for an artistic beating."

There were plenty of cheers, but someone shouted: "Artistic beating? What the fuck's that? Artistic? Sounds like crap to me!"

"What do you mean, crap?" Lincoln was getting angry.

"Sissy, like. Namby-pamby. No big deal."

"Namby-pamby it ain't," replied Lincoln with a coarse chuckle. "I'm not bullshitting. It's where some chick what ain't done nothing wrong gets a damn good thrashing – a damn good thrashing. Just because it's artistic don't mean it can't be hard! Difference is, she don't have to have earned it, it's just for the hell of it, for fun, to make a show and give everyone who watches a good wank off."

"What, we don't get to fuck her?"

"Afterwards, maybe. If you haven't shot your load already! There'll probably be a queue, mind."

"OK," said the doubter. "Sounds good. This one done no harm but you gonna beat her, right?"

"Right."

"Then there'll be a chance to fuck her?"

"You catch on fast," said Lincoln mockingly. "Matter of fact she's right obedient these days. As good as gold she is." He shook the girl, who was struggling like a wildcat in his arms. "Just like a pussy-cat she is usually, if you like that sort of thing, she'll rub up against you and purr, but all the time you can tell that she hates it. Yes, good as gold, except she still tries to get away if she's in trouble!"

He set her on her feet, but she sank to the ground and buried her tear stained face in his crotch, her fingers frantically at work on his flies.

"She often tries to get round me that way," he laughed, slapping her hands away. "Take no notice. She knows enough English to know she's going to be beaten, that's all, and she's had plenty before, it scares the shit out of her. Like I said, she seems to be more sensitive than most and the more often you beat her the more she howls next time."

He turned to the brothel keeper. "That'll suit you," he said. "What you're going to see is what she's like after a few weeks with me. A twice nightly beating show for a month or two and she'll likely be a real stunner as a turn-on, absolute best ever, I guarantee it, and you know me, Mister Honesty."

There were plenty of sniggers at that, and the brothel keeper looked sceptical.