Henry Morgan - The drivers

Then, instead of going under the net, she started running over it and had to be brought back and pushed under. She was soon wriggling along, assisted by many none too gentle blows with the belts. Her progress was definitely encouraged by them, but also severely impeded by her harness, which kept getting snagged.

"Five minutes," called out the timekeeper.

That caused those who had bet on a quick time to encourage her all the more, whilst a few who had estimated longer put their boots on the netting to slow her down.

At last she emerged at the other end.

"Ten minutes!"

One of the Drivers who had bet on twelve picked her up and shoved her head first into the first barrel, then started thrashing her exposed bottom with his belt. Her legs waved wildly in the air as she wriggled her way frantically into the barrel, but getting through was far from easy.

At last she fell out at the front, only to be pushed into barrel two.

"Twelve."

Another Driver took over. There were few bets on so long a race and he had high hopes at sixteen minutes, and he had her through the next two and into the last one to the count of fourteen and the cheers of the other Drivers.

By hard lashing with his belt he got her well and truly into that last barrel, but there she stuck, head out at the front, arse and waving legs at the back.

She was frantic as he lashed her harder and harder, but there was no way she could progress any further, even when others joined in the assault on her bottom.

"Hold it," shouted Lincoln after another few minutes. "Hold it, lads, or she'll be no good for the beating. Time for another break. Just leave her alone, will you! I declare the race unfinished, all bets off."

"So what now?" asked the brothel keeper.

"So now we beat her," said Lincoln.

The brothel keeper licked his lips. She was still swinging in the barrel as one or two of the Drivers took the chance to explore her wriggling behind. "Artistically, eh? I'm looking forward to that."

"Well, you can stop then," said Lincoln. "I don't give a shit for artistic. A beating is a beating is a beating, right? Specially when I do it! A flogging is a flogging. If you advertise it as an artistic beating twice nightly, or whatever, with matinees for all I care, you have to make up your own artistic."

"Well OK," said the brothel keeper. "Maybe I got an idea or two at that."

"But for now," said Lincoln, "we just beat the shit out of her, right lads?"

"Right!" came back the shouts.

"And it ain't for nothing after all, she let me down bad and I don't stand for that… get the frame off my rig, some of you. And get her out of that fucking barrel."

They had to pull her out backwards, there was no way she could ever have got through or out at all by herself.

He clapped his hands and she took up her position in the centre of the ring again, on tiptoes because of the heelless high-heeled shoes that were spiked inside, feet wide apart as she had been taught, arms still strapped tightly together at the elbows behind her back, jaws parted a little by the bit and head held up by the reins from the bit to the elbow straps, breasts and bottom pushed out tight as a bow, still squirming from the ginger on the dildo and plug held in place by the tight leather strap between her legs.

She stood there watching, trembling visibly as they slowly assembled the frame in front of her terrified eyes, making rude gestures towards her as they did so, telling her what it was for, as if she didn't know.

Little whimpers came from between her parted teeth. She had beautiful teeth, small, white and even. Like two rows of pearls, Lincoln thought, with a pink tongue tip just showing like an invitation between them, though he would never say such a thing out loud in a thousand years. Not in this company!

"Come on," said Lincoln. "I may may not know how to beat a woman artistically, but I bet I can string her up real pretty!"

The frame itself was plain enough, just a rectangle of plain wood standing on a rough wooden base, but it had hooks screwed into it in various places.

"Do we take her harness off first?" someone asked. "That bit must be really aching by now, and see how she wriggles."

"Well, what's wrong with that?" asked Lincoln.

"Stops a guy concentrating! Distracting see?"

There were jeers at that.

"She's great as she is," said the brothel keeper. "That's how I'll do it!"

"If you come to a decent price," said Lincoln. But there was little doubt about that now, and both men knew it.

The girl must know it too. The horror in her almond eyes whenever they fell on the brothel keeper did not suggest that she looked forward to his twice-nightly shows. But at that moment she was more concerned with her immediate plight as the argument went on.

The general opinion seemed to be that it would be better to leave her as she was, squirming and bitted and arms secured behind her back, and that was how it was decided in the end.

The brothel keeper held her up in the frame, both hands at her crotch, whilst Lincoln passed a rope from a hook in the cross beam under one armpit, behind her back, and out behind the other armpit, before tying it off to another cross beam hook.

Now she dangled in the air, angled slightly forward, head held up by the reins from the bit to the harness, but bottom pushed out behind so that her continued squirming was even more pronounced.

Lincoln tied a long thin rope to the cross-beam. It dangled down in front of her face and reached the floor. Only Lincoln and the girl knew what it was for. You could tell that by the way she shrank from it and Lincoln smiled his most evil smile.

"Do we fasten her legs?" wondered Lincoln.

"Let's give her a few like that," suggested the brothel keeper. "Then fasten them to the bottom corners for the upper cut."

Lincoln nodded.

"Good thinking! That's when we take the dildoes out. And this is where you have a break to let people spend money at the bar… OK, take ten minutes. And don't handle the goods."

But the chance to handle the hanging girl was too much. The thought that she was about to be beaten made touching her flesh irresistible.

"You can charge for that!" laughed Lincoln, as he reached for another can of beer. "Fiver a feel, eh? Can't be bad!"

"Be better without the dildoes, maybe?"

"Maybe so. They could dip their fingers in ginger."

"Or push pieces up… let's try it."

It was a successful innovation. By the end of the ten minutes, which ended up more like twenty, she was squirming and wriggling better than ever, and also totally exposed. Strange little noises were coming from behind the bit, and bubbles as well.

"Line up, gents," said Lincoln. "Belts or straps or whatever at the ready, please. She'll be well presented in a minute."

He stood behind her, reached between her legs, and grasped the strong thin rope that dangled down between her breasts. Then he moved back six feet and began to raise it up…

A loud bell rang, signalling the start of the sale, and Peter joined the ranks of men filing into the arena, leaving Lincoln and the brothel owner haggling over a price.

Rows of benches circled a straw strewn ring and an auctioneer stood behind a desk at the top of the circle.

"Right then, gentlemen!" he cried. "You've had your chance to look over this year's stock, it's time for the sale. No cheques, credit cards or promises. Cash only at the desk outside, payable through the teller." He looked about the congregation and waited a few moments for those still perusing potential buys. Satisfied all who wanted in were there, he started the sale.

"Here we go then. Lot number one."

As he said that, a boy wearing a white coat entered the ring, holding a lead in one hand and a riding crop in the other. At the other end of the lead was a girl in her mid twenties. She was naked and her long jet black hair was tied in a tight pony tail that came half way down her back, and between her legs was a recently groomed black pubic thatch.