Henry Morgan - The drivers

It didn't take the brothel keeper long to figure that one out. Only one set of straps were necessary. They ran from the outer ends of the bit to the girth belt at centre back, and held the head up nicely.

My God she looked a treat now!

"Shoes!" said Lincoln.

They were high heeled shoes with fur round to make them look like horse's feet. The catch was, they were high heeled without any heels. And, the brothel keeper discovered as he put his hand inside, spiked inside. Great! There was no way she could put her feet down properly wearing these.

He went over and fitted them, holding up one foot at a time as she struggled to hold her balance.

Then she was ready!

"What now?" he asked. "Do we beat her now?"

"Oh no," said Lincoln. "We parade her!"

"And then we beat her."

"And then we race her!"

"Of course! And then we beat her?"

Lincoln just smiled. His smile was enigmatic, giving nothing away.

He just clapped his hands.

The pony started to walk round the ring. The ring was so small that everyone could touch her as she passed them. Her posture was immaculate, upright, head up, feet raised like a real horse.

The brothel keeper was amazed that she could be made to walk done up like that. Just by a clap of the hands! The dildo alone would be hurting like hell. He nearly ejaculated in his pants at the thought of it.

Lincoln clapped his hands again.

The pony broke into a trot, knees right up to her midriff. Her face shone with sweat and tears poured from her eyes as she trotted round and round.

The applause was deafening but Lincoln wasn't finished yet.

He clapped his hands again.

Now the pony was running, running hard, running her heart out.

They watched in awed silence as she ran round and round the little circle.

Lincoln had his watch out.

"Five minutes," he said.

But after four and a half she staggered and fell, collapsing in a heap on the sawdust.

He went over and slashed down with his riding crop. "She's let me down again," he complained. "She'll have to suffer for that, or you'll have no authority over her."

"Right! I understand."

"And now," said Lincoln to the men gathered round, "we need a ten minute break for refreshments. Leave the pony alone, if you don't mind -" a couple of men stepped back from her – "or she'll be no good for racing."

"And we haven't had the beating yet," came a voice.

"Exactly," said Lincoln. "So fucking well leave her alone, then."

He strode off towards the little bar that had been erected near the main doors. The brothel keeper went with him. A few men stayed with the pony. It was a bit much to expect otherwise.

"How can we set up a steeplechase?" wondered Lincoln, lifting a foaming glass to his fleshy lips.

"A steeplechase?"

"Yeah. A steeplechase. Do you have to be a parrot? A place she can run and jump things."

"Boxes, maybe?"

"Sure, boxes'll do fine."

"I'll see to it."

"Right. Make a fairly difficult course. The betting will be how many jumps she makes before she falls."

By the time Lincoln had finished a couple of drinks the brothel keeper had arranged a course of ten jumps round the walls of the shed. Some bunting had been found and music was to hand, and one of the Drivers was taking the bets.

"What if she completes the course?" asked Lincoln.

"Jackpot!" said the man. "If that's what you bet on. Everyone puts in a tenner and says how many, one to ten, and the pool goes to everyone who has guessed right. Nobody's said over eight so far."

"I'll go for broke," said Lincoln, putting down his tenner. He'd score well if he won, and he thought he knew how to fix that.

He went back to where the girl lay writhing beneath the weight of several Drivers, and pulled them off with a curse. As he stood her at the start he whispered, "You go all the way, or else! I've bet on you finishing the course."

He stood a few yards from her with a long whip in his hands.

"First race – all bets done, lads?"

Nothing but nods and a few calls of 'get on with it'.

"This whip sets her going, OK?"

There was no dissent.

The whip cracked with a flourish and she jumped in the air and was off. Her run was awkward with her hands secured up behind her back, but she was a natural athlete, circus trained, and looked reasonably graceful as well as incredibly erotic.

It was not until the fifth jump that she failed to clear it and fell crashing to the ground, rolling over and over and ending up in an untidy sprawling heap, arse up.

Lincoln was above her cringing figure in a flash, wielding a riding crop without mercy as she writhed about on the floor.

"Goddam it, bitch! Bloody Hell! I told you finish the fucking course!"

His temper was really gone. He continued to lay into her helpless figure until the brothel keeper hauled him off.

"Steady man. There's another race. And don't spoil her for the beating."

At last he calmed down. "Sorry, place your bets for the next race. It starts in ten minutes."

The betting was more on lower numbers this time. Nobody thought she'd do as well a second time. But Lincoln went for a perfect round again, as he told the girl as he prepared her for the start.

"Don't you dare let me down again," he snarled. "Don't you fucking dare or there'll soon be no skin on that pretty little arsehole of yours!"

He picked up the long whip again. It was knotted at the end.

"All done?"

Again there was nothing but a chorus of assent.

"Ready -"

The girl stood trembling, her eyes on the whip.

"Go!"

She was off like a flash but there was no way of avoiding the whip. He let her go a few yards before he cracked it on her, and she stumbled for a few paces but just managed to recover.

Nearly blew my bet there, he thought.

As it happened it didn't matter. She crashed at the eighth, but it was because someone had tripped her.

"No bets on that," shouted the bookie. "Null race."

"OK," said Lincoln. "Rerun."

He went to the girl and picked her up by the hair. "See you get right round this time, or else!"

Lincoln's 'or else' was famous.

This time he started her with the whip and ran after her with it, cracking her several times as hard as he could to liven her up.

And this time she made it, to grudging applause.

"OK!" said Lincoln. "Now for the obstacle race. Any ideas?"

"Me!" came a voice, followed by laughter.

"OK," said Lincoln. "She has to get through a group of four of you. What else?"

"I've got a big net over my load," one Driver volunteered. "We could fix that down with weights for her to wriggle under."

"And I've got some barrels," said another. "We could knock the bottoms out and hang them up."

"That should be enough," said Lincoln. "Plus we'll tie her legs together, eh? We'll set the course the length of the building, and bets will be on how long she takes, to the nearest minute, OK?

The course only took half an hour to set, and soon they were ready for the off, all bets taken. The girl's legs were bound together above the knees and at the ankles and she was set against the wall at one end, facing the one at the other.

"We can all encourage her along the way," said Lincoln, "so have your belts out. Isn't that barrel a bit small?"

The man who had contributed the barrels shrugged

"There's only four without that one. She's not that big. She might make it. And I've hung it last."

"Fair enough," said Lincoln. "All bets made? Ready for the off? Ready, get set, GO!"

She didn't move.

"Say it in Chinese," someone jeered.

Lincoln gave her a push towards the four who waited, the first obstacle. They proved quite an effective one, and she took a great deal of bucking and wriggling to get through.